


The Tempered Kingdoms

by imagineagreatadventure



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (based more on books than show), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Epilogue, Gen, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, POV Alternating, Post - A Dance With Dragons, Post-Canon, Rebuilding, Ships aren't a huge part of the story, Slow Burn, almost everyone is alive, but they're still important, ish, more characters than mentioned in tags, that can be alive
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-05-01 20:01:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 59,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5218958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imagineagreatadventure/pseuds/imagineagreatadventure
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After years of wars, death, destruction, politics, and White Walkers, a tentative calm has returned to Westeros partially due to the rulership of King Jon and Queen Daenerys. But politics rues its head again as Stannis Baratheon demands his right to rule, while the former Queen Cersei languishes in a cell, plotting her revenge against all who live above her. </p><p>Meanwhile Sansa Stark is forced to return to King's Landing after being found by the rumored lovers Jaime Lannister and Brienne of Tarth. Faced both with her past and her family, Sansa becomes torn on becoming involved in the "game of thrones" once again, this time as a player instead of a pawn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sansa I

**Author's Note:**

> I call this my "happy ending that's not really a happy ending" fic because pretty much everyone that can be alive is alive post Dance with Dragons BUT you know with all these people who hate each other or want different things it's going to be hard to rule Seven Kingdoms. 
> 
> However, not really planning on anything ASOIAF level destruction happening? It's more of a thought piece.

** SANSA **

* * *

 

The Red Keep was quieter than Sansa remembered. 

Although, she tried to never think much of the Red Keep since she left it. Her years pretending to be Baelish’s bastard kept her from ruminating on her troubled past. If she remembered the Red Keep, that meant she was Sansa. 

But she couldn’t be Sansa if she was _Alayne_.

Samwell Tarly shifted beside her. His clothes were still black, despite the wildling woman that hid in his quarters. He was a good man, Jon’s friend, someone to trust. 

Or so Sansa hoped. But she had placed her hope in too many false friends before to trust the man completely, Jon’s man or not.

“Lady Sansa, we should probably go see your brot- cousin,” Samwell corrected. His ears turned red in embarrassment and Sansa couldn’t help but empathize with the man.  

Who knew that her father had it in him to lie to his family for all those years? Her father, a man who despised liars and schemers, became a liar and schemer to save Jon from her father’s own best friend. 

Sansa had never really hated Robert Baratheon, despite his drunkenness and his whores. Even though he was the reason she was brought to King’s Landing and betrothed to Joffrey in the first place didn’t make her hate the fat king, but she did hate him for making her father a liar.

Dolorous Edd, another brother of the Watch who was helping Samwell escort Sansa through the Red Keep, walked at her left side. He kept throwing curious looks at the surrounding courtiers that were littered amongst the halls. “You know,” he drawled, “I thought the White Walkers were a chilly bunch but these folks won't spare me a glance.”

It was true. No one was looking at the three strangers. Perhaps it was because of Samwell Tarly's and Dolorous Edd’s black attire and Sansa’s dyed dark hair, but no matter the reason, not one person seemed to note their presence. Or perhaps they were afraid to. Jon was the King of the Realm now, he had been for three long months, and still no one knew what was going to happen to the surviving former regime. Three months ago, Daenerys Targaryen and Jon had taken the Red Keep with Dragons of stone and Dragons of flesh, and three months before that, they tore the White Walkers to shreds with the help of Stannis and his red priestess, and, of course, with their dragons.

And Sansa had missed all of it. 

Somehow. 

“Will Sers Jaime and Brienne be attending this session as well?” Sansa asked Samwell Tarly, thinking of her own journeys with the two knights. Her would-be-rescuers. 

Samwell shook his head, his eyes darting to the ceiling, “No, I think not…”

_Strange_. Although the Kingslayer was no favorite of the monarch, considering he gained his infamous nickname murdering the Queen’s father, he had proven his worth over and over again, enough to make the Queen grit her teeth and pardon him for his actions long ago, although she removed him from the Kingsguard and took away all of his rights to the  Westerlands - not that Ser Jaime minded the latter, it was the former that hurt him. Sansa suspected this _generosity_ partly had to do with Sansa’s estranged husband’s influence.

Sansa hadn’t seen Tyrion in years. Would she still recoil at his short stubby legs and his noseless face? Or would seeing him be a kindness now? After all he was truly one of the only ones who attempted to be good to her - despite the fact she was a daughter and sister of traitors... _no_ , the daughter of Eddard Stark and Catelyn Tully and the sister of Robb. 

_Poor Robb_.

Robb had been younger than her when he stormed a kingdom and was crowned a king by his _loyal_ bannermen. And Jon had only been a child when he left for the Night’s Watch, truly.  She hadn’t seen Jon in years either, since before it all started, back in the days of summer. Sansa had not even see him after her arrival the day before, Samwell Tarly had greeted her and Sers Jaime and Brienne when they reached King’s Landing.

But now . . . now Jon wanted to see her. She could finally see her family again.

It was terrifying.

“Here we are!” Samwell chimed cheerfully, as if Sansa’s mind hadn’t been racing back towards the dreadful past moments ago. As if she had never seen any darkness in these halls. The door beyond Samwell led to the small council chamber, which made Sansa’s insides twist even more. She had never been in there. Her father had… and he was dead because of it.

At least Dolorous Edd looked about as thrilled as she felt. “Oh lovely, we’re going to talk to more nobles,” he muttered under his breath.

“We’re only here to escort Lady Sansa,” Samwell corrected. 

“But what if they think my teeth look funny? Pretty sure men have been hanged for less.”

“We’re talking about Jon! Lord Commander Snow! King Jon!” Samwell exclaimed, looking personally hurt at Dolorous Edd's insinuation. For some reason, this made Sansa like him more.

“I never said Jon would do it, you lous, I’m talking about the others in there. Isn’t that red priestess in there? She never liked me. Probably because of the fleas.”

“Perhaps I should enter alone then,” Sansa suggested gently, placing a small smile on her face. 

The longer she listened to Dolorous Edd the more nauseous she felt about the prospect of seeing old faces again.

It was much better to get it over with. The anticipation was draining. 

“Ah, actually, Lady Sansa, I’m invited to go inside as well,” Samwell smiled kindly. Sansa remembered hearing that it was rumored that Samwell was to be requested as a Grand Maester for the throne, although he had already declined on the basis that he was a man of the Night’s Watch.

Dolorous Edd snorted, “Well, I was not, so I shall take my leave and find a place in this city that doesn’t have nobles lurking about.” He shook his head with disgust. “Nobles.”

Sansa withheld a genuine smile, and tried not to laugh as well, although she knew that her mirth was hiding in her eyes. She once considered her noble blood the highest honor, but after dealing with being a traitor’s daughter as well as a nobleman’s bastard she knew the truth. Nobles were as terrible as the smallfolk proclaimed.

If Samwell and Dolorous Edd were disturbed by her sudden change in mood, they expressed nothing. Instead, Dolorous Edd nodded and bowed, his bow reminding Sansa of a child’s, gawky and imperfect, and walked away whistling _The Bear and the Maiden Fair_.

“My lady,” Samwell said jovially, while opening the door. Sansa smiled at him, although she wouldn’t have called it a true smile. Her teeth weren’t showing and her lips were barely curling, but Samwell treated it as one.

Sansa tried to remember the last time she had really smiled.

Perhaps it was when she thought she was safe from evil at the Vale. Before Littlefinger pressed his mouth against hers.

But even then the shadow of Ser Dontos clawed at her mouth, making any smile she shared with the world a farce. 

The small council chambers were bright enough to cause Sansa to wince. Darkness had overtaken her senses for so long that it seemed strange to see the sun pouring through the windows and the fires in the hearths.

“Lady Sansa Lannister,” a voice cried out and Sansa winced again.

That wasn’t her name. She was a Stark. 

Never a Lannister.

“And Maester Samwell Tarly,” the voice continued.

Sansa curtsied to the unseen table, her eyes still adjusting to the light. She could see a mop of dark hair on one of the men sitting, and her heart beat wildly – Jon?

She blinked once more and then her vision cleared. 

It wasn’t Jon she was staring at, but Stannis Baratheon, whom she had seen only once before from afar, although now that she could see better it was easy to tell that his hair was thin unlike what she remembered of Jon's. He looked as disapproving as she had always heard from both Ser Jaime and Brienne. Sansa curtsied and attempted to keep her face placid enough to hide her disappointment, before looking around the table carefully.

The group looked better fit to be mummers rather than to be rulers of the Seven Kingdoms. There was a man with a slaver’s mark on his face, a woman clothed in only red ( _Melisandre_ , she remembered, thinking of Brienne’s hatred of the priestess, _the red woman,_ the murderer of Renly Baratheon), a man who reminded Sansa of the sailors in songs as he absentmindedly touched his throat, and –

Her breath caught in her throat. 

It was Jon and he smiled at her. As if she had never turned her nose up at him and called him her bastard brother.

“Jon,” she managed to say, before falling silent, remembering where she was.

“King Jon,” a woman’s voice corrected and Sansa’s eyes looked to the voice.

It was Daenerys. The Queen.

She looked like a true ruler. A true Queen. 

Queen Daenerys was so fair, her pale hair twisted into a knot above her head making it easier to see her violet eyes. She had the kind of face that Sansa would have imagined on Jonquil, strong and beautiful.

_Nothing like Cersei._

“For now,” mumbled Stannis in reply to the Queen’s correction. The red woman nodded sagely beside him, her glances dangerous and dark.

Queen Daenerys turned her violet eyes to the older man and frowned. “For now,” she repeated.

Jon looked unconcerned about this. “Lady Sansa,” he smiled at her.

“Lady Lannister, you mean, my dear good-cousin. After all, she is _my wife._ ”

Sansa looked to the Queen’s left. There sat Sansa’s would-be husband, his mouth curled in a strange, awful smile. He was even uglier than she remembered. Sansa attempted a curtsy for the room’s benefit.  “My lord husband,” she smiled. She wished she was as good a mummer as Littlefinger had been, then mayhap the smile would have reached her eyes.

The stares of the council unsettled her. 

And apparently it did the same to her companion. “Your majesties,” Samwell Tarly bobbed awkwardly, as if imitating a bow. _How on earth was he the son of a Lord_ , she wondered, as  Samwell continued to speak, “My lords, ladies, shouldn’t we let the Starks reunite?”

“I see no Starks here,” Tyrion said, his mismatched eyes darkening. Sansa couldn’t discern if it was from amusement or not. 

“Enough,” the Queen said, frowning at her Hand. Or was Tyrion's Jon's Hand? Sansa wasn't quite sure how that worked. “King Jon and Lady Sansa may sit and talk in the adjoining chamber for a few minutes, but then we must get on to business.”

Jon nodded, “As you say, your Majesty,” he said. His smile had disappeared and he looked very serious.

_And sad_ , she realized with a start.

How could he not be though? Out of all his siblings he got _her_ back. 

Not Arya his favorite, not Robb his beloved brother, not Bran his shadow, nor Rickon the baby. She was all he had left.

_ Stupid Sansa. _

But still she put on a smile as she grasped his elbow and together they walked into the side chamber.

He hugged her as soon as the door closed. “Sansa, I thought you were lost forever.” His voice was muffled from her hair.

She tried to return the embrace as eagerly as he did, but couldn’t muster the enthusiasm. “Jon, what’s going on? Why does Stannis question your claim?”

He let go of her then and frowned at her, looking almost disappointed. For what reason, Sansa didn't understand. Didn't he know that his life was at risk with Stannis' challenge of his legitimacy? “Surely we can talk politics later, Sansa. I want to know what happened to you, I want to know how you’re here.”

Sansa could almost hear his unfinished words. _How are you here_ _when the rest of our family is not?_

She shook her head and pretended to smile. “I think everyone wants to know that tale and I’d rather not repeat the story more than once… although I imagine Sers Jaime and Brienne have already explained some to the council. But, at the very least, please tell me who everyone in there is if you won’t tell me about your struggles. I can’t be expected to play this courtly game without knowing something about who I’m speaking with.”

 Jon’s eyes were dark and tired, she wondered if he even wanted to be here. He rubbed his beard almost absent-mindedly. “Who do you want to know about?” 

“Everyone.”

His frown lifted a little and Sansa almost would have said that Jon was restraining an amused grin. “Well, there’s me, first of all –“

“I know that,” she pushed his arm and his eyes brightened. Sansa wondered if he was reminded of Arya. “I don’t need to know about you or Tyrion, but the others…”

She stopped, suddenly afraid that someone was listening. Spiders were everywhere, Lady Olenna once told her when Sansa had reminded her of Varys’ spies. Sansa wished she had a fool to sing loudly, the way Lady Olenna once ordered hers to sing. If only she could be the fool to sing loudly in order to hear Jon's true knowledge, or at least to warn him about the spiders and little birds that wandered the Red Keep. 

“Stannis Baratheon is here to woo the Queen. His wife died during the Long Night and he has finished mourning her,” Jon stated, his smile disappearing into his beard. “Stannis thinks he deserves to be King and honestly, I agree. I belong in the North, not here.”

Sansa quickly thought this over. “But I thought she was to marry you…”

“That is her plan, as of now. She even says she loves me, but that’s a story for another day.”

“Do you love her?” The question bubbled from Sansa’s lips before she could stop it. 

_Stupid Sansa, unable to crush romantic dreams_. There could never be love for a Queen. After all this, it was one of the only things that Sansa was certain of in this world. 

He ignored her question, although his eyes said other things. 

_Jon didn’t love the Queen_ , Sansa realized. Her heart grew for the poor Queen, the poor Daenerys Targaryen. It was a terrible curse not to be loved by the one you desired. Sansa had seen the ramifications of that curse in both Littlefinger and her Aunt Lysa. Truly, even Queen Cersei had desired to be loved by King Robert once, she had to have been, or else she would not have hated the King so terribly.

“What about the others?” Sansa added after a pause. “Who are they?”

“There’s Davos Seaworth, the former Hand of the King to Stannis, otherwise known as the Onion Knight. He’s a good man,” Jon stated with the same authority her father did about some of his bannermen when he was still living. It made Sansa smile. A real smile. 

Looking at Jon was almost like looking at her father, cousin or not.

“And then there’s Melisandre, the red priestess. She’s…” Jon licked his lips, “something. It’s hard to explain her. But she’s loyal. As long as Rh’llor tells her to be.”

“The God of Light?” Sansa crinkled her nose. She knew little about this god who was now one of the most popular and important gods in Westeros — all because of Stannis and his red priestess, saving the world from the White Walkers.

Jon nodded, running a hand through his dark beard. “Yes, him.” Sansa suspected Jon wanted to say more about Rh’llor but instead he sighed, “And then there’s Jorah Mormont.”

“Mormont?” Something stirred Sansa’s memory. “You mean that man with the slave brand? Wasn’t he the same man Father punished for selling slaves years ago?” Lifetimes ago really.

Jon smiled and she realized it was because she mentioned Father. “Yes, the same man. He practically served as Her Majesty’s Hand until she exiled him from her service. But then he came back to her with Lord Tyrion by his side.”

“And he replaced Jorah as her Hand.”

Jon nodded, “Yes, although Jorah is still an important counselor to Her Grace. He may even start her Queensguard... but that is uncertain as well.”

There was a sharp knock on the door and suddenly it opened, revealing a red-faced Samwell Tarly. “I’m sorry to interrupt your reunion, but the council would like to begin.”

Sansa sighed and looked at Jon who seemed to share the same resigned expression. But still he guided her out of the chamber, looking forlorn and tired and almost protective of her, leading her out of the room with his arm on hers. 

But Sansa didn't need his protection. She had survived much worse than a Queen with three dragons, she tried to remind herself, thinking of Joffrey and Littlefinger and escaping the Vale with only Mya Stone’s help.

She could survive the stares of a purple-eyed Queen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this first chapter! I'm not the *best* at canon because there's so much of it, but I do the best I can so if there's ever anything like completely obviously wrong, let me know in regards to history/layout of the Red Keep or something. 
> 
> Also, def. no update schedule right now, currently working on too many WIPs as it is, but I've been wanting to post this up for actual ages so I decided to do it. 
> 
> Ships will be added as they come up in the story. I'm indecisive about a couple of things regarding the ships, some characters may have multiple ship tags, but I also don't want to mislead anyone so I think it depends on how everything goes.
> 
> Anyways, I really hope you enjoyed this so far despite my long notes!


	2. Daenerys I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany makes plans.

**DAENERYS**

* * *

 

The Stark girl was taller than she expected.

Although Tyrion had made japes about his lady wife’s height, since he was a dwarf she hadn’t considered much of it valid. Everyone was tall to a dwarf, Dany told herself, so his reputedly beautiful wife couldn’t be as much of a giantess as he proclaimed.

And while Lady Sansa was nothing like the remarkable Brienne of Tarth in height or build she was tall enough that it bothered Dany.

It wasn’t just that she was tall, Dany realized after a moment as she surveyed the younger girl, but it was that Sansa carried herself like a Queen.

Lady Sansa was once to marry the Usurper’s false son so Dany knew it made sense, however it made her watch the young lady closely for signs of traitor’s blood, for Ned Stark would always be a traitor in Dany’s mind. No matter how mad her father was, her dear brother Rhaegar was not and so Ned Stark betrayed the best Targaryen of them all.

While Dany observed Sansa, the younger girl explained what had happened to her since Joffrey Baratheon executed her traitor father, years and years before. The Kingslayer’s son, Dany mused, sipping her wine as she listened to the pretty girl’s story. It was weaved well, although Dany suspected falsehoods here and there. The Tyrells killing Joffrey wasn’t a surprise and it made Dany unsure of whether to send them a gift of gold or to remove a Tyrell head. Dany looked to her bear, her good Ser Jorah, and he seemed to sense her unease. He nodded at her, somehow looking almost gentle despite the slave brand that marred his face.

Sometimes she wished she could love him as he loved her, but even the musing the idea disgusted her.

And it wasn’t as if she could marry a Mormont even if she did favor him. She needed a man with a name. Only a powerful House would do. Her eyes glanced to Jon’s seat then, her brother Rhaegar’s son. She wanted to love him as well, and she suspected that Jon believed her to be in love with him (as even the smartest of men were easy to convince of this sort of falsehood) but she didn’t care for him in that way. She loved him as a relative, as an aunt to a nephew. She did not want to share his bed nor did she want to love him the way a wife was supposed to love a husband. She couldn’t love anyone after Khal Drogo.

Nor truly after Daario. The loss of Daario surprised Daenerys more than it should have and made her poor heart break a little more. She didn’t even know it was capable of being broken again until he passed.

Her heart was broken to tiny pieces, only held together by flames and wrath and justice.

Sansa suddenly stopped speaking then, and Dany turned her eyes on the young girl. “I apologize, Your Grace, this night is the hardest for me.”

“The night you killed Lord Baelish?” a voice from the shadows slithered. Dany resisted saying something impertinent, but Lord Varys was one of the reasons Dany was still alive so it wouldn’t do to be too rude.

Or at least… saving her life is what Lord Varys claimed, although her bear told another story of the spider’s true allegiance.

Aegon Targaryen indeed. It was good for the realm that the mummer’s false dragon was silenced by the Tyrells before the White Walkers made their advance.

Or before Dany made hers.

Sansa was startled to see the bald man. “Lord Varys,” she said. “I did not know you were here.”

“I only just arrived,” he said with one of his slippery smiles that Dany distrusted. She wondered if she should just kill him and be done with it.

But she had not even killed the wretched Queen Cersei, the Usurper’s wife and the Kingslayer’s lover, yet. Instead, the woman was rotting in the dungeons, although Tyrion had joyfully suggested roasting his sister over a spit of dragon fire.

Not even Dany relished her brother’s necessary death so Tyrion’s fervor over this matter upset her ‘gentle heart’, as Ser Jorah liked to put it. But even the Kingslayer, a man who had lain with his sister as though they were dragons instead of lions, seemed to think that Cersei should be put to death for her sins against Gods and men, although his suggestion of the method was gentler, and his eyes were much sadder than his younger brother’s.  

“Execute her cleanly, Your Grace, for her children’s sake if not hers,” the Kingslayer said when he heard his brother’s plans for his sister. His lady warrior stood beside him, her face almost more mournful than his own.

Dany still wasn’t sure what to do with the children of the former Queen. At the moment, Myrcella lived in Dorne with her once betrothed (Trystane now betrothed to a wisp of a girl from a minor house in Dorne, Dany knew that marriage would be unhappy with the former princess in Trystane's house) and Tommen slept next to his lady wife in Highgarden, a girl who was probably regretting getting involved with the Iron Throne at all, now that her child-husband was a bastard with no ties to the crown.

She’d prefer to leave them in their respective kingdoms, with families who seemed to love them, but still she was afraid. Would someone attempt a coup?

If Dany didn’t bear children there might be one. And Dany was sure she’d never bear any children but her dragons again.

Would it be better to send Myrcella to the septons to become a Silent Sister and to send Tommen to the Wall? The Wall needed men now more than ever — even a small boy like Tommen could help with the rebuilding.

Dany shook off those thoughts and focused her attention back onto the young girl in front of her.

“I did kill Lord Baelish,” Sansa confessed, glancing at Lord Varys as if waiting for him to interrupt her once again. The young lady’s long hair swished in front of her, as if it was a curtain protecting her from the council’s stares.

But there was no protection here. “Continue, Lady Sansa,” Dany demanded. Her voice was harsh and she could sense that it startled the younger girl, but Dany had done it for Sansa. No Lord at her table would interrupt the lady again now that the Queen ( _the khaleesi,_ her heart whispered) spoke.

“I- he,” Sansa swallowed. Dany stole a look at Jon, whose dark eyes seemed even darker, and tried to imagine having a brother that would care so much. If Viserys had cared for her… what would have changed? Would he still be alive? Would Drogo?

Would her son?

“Speak, Sansa,” Dany demanded again, this time more gently. “It is all right, you shall not be punished for killing a traitor.”

Lord Varys frowned but said nothing for which Dany was glad of, she couldn’t bear to argue about who was and was not a traitor to the Seven Kingdoms and the Iron Throne this evening — especially when this fight would have been about a dead man who had done nothing but tear the realm apart.

“He wanted me in his bed that night. He said,” Sansa swallowed again, looking fearful although Dany sensed that the girl was trying not to show it, “that there were other ways of pleasure that would allow me to keep my maidenhead.”

Beside Dany, Tyrion snorted although he looked angry instead of amused, while Jon’s fists were clenched so tightly on top of the table that his hands were turning as white as his former surname. And even typically placid Stannis looked disgusted, while Varys tutted but looked unsurprised (although uncomfortable). Dany couldn’t imagine that Varys understood what drove a man to such foolish lengths. The rest of the room looked nearly as uncomfortable as Varys but kept silent, allowing Sansa to speak.

“I came to him that night. Pretending to love him too, trying to act as I knew he wanted me to act, the way he taught me to act for - for Harry the Heir, and then when he grabbed me and pulled me towards him, I slit his throat.” Sansa’s eyes were bright. “I think he was surprised.”

“How did you escape the Vale then?” Tyrion asked. “I’m sure the Lords and Ladies of the Vale didn’t take too kindly that their Lord Regent was lying in a puddle of blood. I was a guest of theirs once and I know they tend to throw guests they dislike out the Moon Door.”

“The Moon Door?” Dany raised an eyebrow. “What is the Moon Door?”

Sansa spoke first. “It’s how Littlefinger killed my aunt.”

“That is not what I asked,” chided Dany.

Sansa’s face paled. “I know, your Grace, but –“

Tyrion waved a hand, looking quite at ease. “Let me, my lovely wife.” Sansa reddened at the compliment but Tyrion didn’t seem to spare her a thought. “Your Grace,” he directed this at Dany, “the Moon Door is the Vale’s preferred method of execution. The door is part of the floor, it opens into the sky and a six hundred foot drop to the stones of the valley below. Lady Arryn tried to make me one of its victims long ago, when she mistakenly believed I had something to do with her husband’s death and the attempted assassination of my good-brother, the missing Brandon Stark.”

Dany absorbed this, before nodding at Sansa. “Continue your tale,” she ordered.

“Myranda Royce saw me safe. She suspected the truth of my name since she met me and was unsurprised when I came to her covered in blood, although she suspected it was my maiden’s blood.” Sansa pushed back her dark braid and hesitated, “I did not tell her that I killed Lord Baelish. I let her believe what she wanted. But she helped me leave the castle when I told her what Littlefinger had tried to do, her and Mya Stone both saved my life that night and I now suspect that if I had told them the truth of my deed that they would have helped me either way.”

“So you were alone in the hill country?” Tyrion asked, frowning.

Sansa shook her head, “No, I wasn’t. Well, I was, but not for long, Mya Stone was with me nearly the entire time. Ser Jaime found me, as I’m sure he and Lady Brienne told you in their testimonies. They were on their way up when we were on the way down. Ser Jaime didn’t even recognize me, despite knowing me, and neither did Pod - Squire Podrick Payne, I mean, but Ser- Lady Brienne did. She said even with my hair the color of dirt that it was obvious that I was my mother’s daughter.”

“And you just went with them?” Lord Varys asked, amused. Dany didn’t see what was amusing about it.

“It was just me and Mya Stone, my lord, and I didn’t want her to be harmed. I thought they would kill us if I didn’t go with them, although neither threatened me. And so I went.”

Bravery or foolishness, Dany wondered. Or was it just pure kindness towards someone who helped her? Starks truly did inspire the strangest loyalty and perhaps actions like Sansa’s were why that happened.

“And they brought you where, exactly?” Jon Snow asked, worry creasing his features. It somehow made her nephew handsomer.

Sansa shook her head. “I am sure they explained all to you, my lords and ladies… I barely knew where we were going, I was too frightened to pay attention.”

Dany suspected this was a lie, but decided there was nothing wrong with a lie of this sort. Lord Varys was about to open his mouth to say something when Dany opened hers instead, “Continue, Lady Sansa. What was the next event that occurred?”

“We eventually started heading back towards the Riverlands… to see my mother.”

Everyone stared at Sansa in silence. The Kingslayer neglected this, Dany realized, her anger rising.

“Your mother is dead,” Stannis said with little empathy for the girl in front of him. But so many were dead now. His own wife included.

Sansa nodded in agreement, “She is, but she is or shall I say was also alive at the time. Rh’llor raised her up. Thoros of Myr and Beric Dondarrion resurrected her.”

Lady Melisandre spoke before anyone else could. “I suspect it is true. Rh’llor has the power to do so,” at this the red woman looked significantly at Jon Snow, who avoided her gaze, “and Lady Sansa would not lie about such a thing. She is a Stark.”

Tyrion coughed and Jon Snow smiled.

Dany, however, frowned. The annulment of Sansa Stark and Tyrion Lannister would have to be dealt with sooner rather than later. She could already spy the tensions breaking apart the room.

As these were her only allies, it would not due for them to be broken apart so quickly. Especially since Sansa was technically the Lady Paramount of the North and Tyrion was the Lord Paramount of the Westerlands. She needed them.

“She wasn’t herself, when we met again,” Sansa whispered, her voice almost hard to hear. “She wasn’t really my mother. Perhaps that’s why Sers Jaime and Brienne neglected to mention it to you before. They knew that she was my mother and that only I should tell you what she truly was.”

“And what was she truly?” Davos asked, curious.

Sansa smiled sadly, but it was directed at no one. “She was vengeance.”

“What do you mean?” asked Stannis impatiently, a frown tearing apart his face. He could have been handsome if he smiled, Dany thought, not for the first time. But had Stannis ever smiled?

“I mean that she could not speak without covering the wound on her throat, that her hair was white and brittle, and her skin was the color of curdled milk. She had no mercy in her heart, not any longer. This was not the woman who could have released Ser Jaime to free me and Arya. This was a woman who was going to butcher Ser Jaime and Lady Brienne and even poor Squire Podrick while I begged her on my hands and knees not to do so. Because she wanted to be rid of every enemy, imagined or not, of the Stark and Tully families.”

“Would she have tried to murder me then?” Tyrion asked, smirking as he did so, knowing the answer already.

Tyrion could be too smart for his own good sometimes.

“She would have killed you the moment she saw you,” Sansa vowed after a moment’s hesitation. Dany wondered what about Tyrion bothered Lady Catelyn so, unless it was just the fact that he was a Lannister. Sansa continued to speak, “She was not even called Lady Catelyn anymore, but Lady Stoneheart, and it was an apt name for her.”

“How did your companions escape their fate?” Samwell Tarly asked, his voice quiet.

“Podrick Payne saved us,” Sansa said. “He killed her when she was distracted by the Kingsl- Ser Jaime.”

“Knowing my brother, he was probably saying more words that he ought,” Tyrion said. Dany could not tell if Tyrion was being affectionate or not. There was trouble in those woods too. The Seven Kingdoms were truly torn apart, even within families.

“A family trait,” Stannis rumbled, not even pretending to say it under his breath.

Tyrion glared.

Dany resisted pushing them both out of the room.

Sansa only nodded, blushing at Stannis’ remark. “But Podrick was able to grab a sword and stabbed my moth… it in the back. It—“ the poor girl stopped, then stood up straighter. “Lady Stoneheart was dead.”

And so was her mother, Dany thought, a strange sort of empathy towards the girl. Dany understood what it meant to allow a loved one to be murdered.

“We barely escaped with our lives, half the Brotherhood wanted to chase us all down and kill us, while the other half defended us, as they had not enjoyed the terrible reign of Lady Stoneheart.”

The poor girl was waning as she spoke, Dany noted. “That is enough for today, Lady Sansa,” she said, delicately avoiding mentioning any surname for the girl, although Tyrion still huffed.

Sansa nodded, obviously relieved, although she hesitated, licking her lips. “I can speak more if need be, Your Grace.”

“No, Sansa, I think we know enough for today. I shall walk with you,” Dany suddenly decided, “back to your chambers.”

“Your Grace?” Sansa looked stunned. As did the rest of the council.

“But the other matters,” her bear muttered in her ear.

Dany only smiled. “They can wait for me. The council is dismissed for now. I shall call you when I need you.”

If King Jon was any other man, he would have blustered and demanded that the council stay for his words, that his words mattered more than hers, but Jon did not want to be King, so he sat silently and bowed his head in agreement.

For this Dany almost did love him.

But too many ghosts haunted them both.

Jorah followed Dany out the door and Jon followed Sansa. It was then Dany realized that the two men meant to guard them.

How was she supposed to have a private word with Sansa with two Northerners at their backs?

But it wasn’t as if she could trust any of the Usurper’s and his false kins’ Kingsguard. Nor would she have the Kingslayer and his whore guarding her.

Not that she believed that the woman called ‘Brienne the Beauty’ shared the Kingslayer’s bed. Dany did not know the woman well, as they had only interacted once or twice, but it was doubtful that the Maid of Tarth and the Kingslayer’s relationship passed into the bedroom. The man had once had his sister (who was still one of the most beautiful women in Westeros despite her lingering insanity) in his bed, and to have one such as Brienne of Tarth now instead? It was doubtful - something that singers would make up, it wasn’t true.

Although, the way the singers did tell it, it made sense that…

Well, Dany wouldn’t think on it now. It was obvious that the Maid of Tarth was still truly that, a maid who blushed at the mention of relations. And she probably would forever be one despite the significance of Tarth.

Dany could see how the singers would believe such a tale of love between the two warriors. Or at least spin their own version. It was quite obvious to Dany that the Maid of Tarth was in love with the Kingslayer, never leaving his sight, always watching him closely as if she was waiting for his other hand to fall off.

The poor girl was besotted with a man she’d never have. Perhaps she and Ser Jorah should be married, at least then they’d both have someone. And their children would be talented, loyal warriors, which was always a necessity.

“Did you want to speak with me, your Grace?” Sansa asked, interrupting Dany’s thoughts, as they walked the halls of the Red Keep together.

There was much damage to fix here, in more than the stones in the walls, Dany knew. So many bonds broken, so many betrayals, so many hearts left wanting — including Sansa’s. Dany almost wondered if it would be better if she left Tyrion and Sansa’s marriage together, but had a feeling that it would cause more trouble than it was worth.

Neither of them wanted the marriage truly, although Dany knew that Tyrion found the Northern girl attractive. And Sansa was attractive, quite beautiful, even with her dyed dark hair. Dany could only imagine what it would look like in full color.

Kissed by fire, as the wildlings said on those long winter nights. Jon had jumped when Dany had mentioned the phrasing to him, as she taught him how to feed Rhaegal as they stood in several feet of freezing snow. For a long time she thought he had jumped from nervousness over the dragon, but now she knew better…

“I just wanted to know you, Lady Sansa,” Dany said in response to Sansa’s question. Sansa stiffened but pretended to smile as they walked. The girl was uneasy at any sort of attempt at friendship. What had this girl suffered in the Red Keep? “I sense that you plan on leaving King’s Landing as soon as you are able, so I know I only have a short time in your presence.”

Sansa blushed prettily. “Your Grace, if you wish me to stay, I will.”

But you will not like it, Dany knew. Dany almost looked wryly back at her bear, who was only a few steps behind, but thought better of it, remembering that Jon was there too, listening closely. “That will not be necessary for now. I wanted to actually speak to you of another matter. Your brother too,” Dany did look back then just in time to see Jon’s ears perk up.

“Your Grace?” the one time siblings chimed together.

“We can speak plainly in your rooms, can we not, Lady Sansa?”

“There are ears everywhere, your Grace,” Sansa replied, steadily. “If you do not mind Lord Varys hearing it as well, then we can speak there.”

Dany frowned. Perhaps she should have Lord Varys’ head taken off. “It may not matter if he hears it. Possibly soon will all know.”

“Possibly?” Sansa asked, her voice small.

“It depends on you, Lady Sansa.”

Sansa was quiet the rest of the way to the rooms and Dany followed suit, unwilling to speak to an unwilling conversational partner. It was only when they all entered Lady Sansa’s chambers, that someone spoke.

“What do you have to say to my sister?” Jon demanded. “What was the point of this charade?”

“Jon!” Sansa said, her eyes darting from Dany to her former brother. “Your Grace, I apologize.”

“He is a King, Sansa, he has the right to speak to me thus.” For now, Dany thought, wishing that Jon would leave and return to the Night’s Watch - the men who would never have him again. They had killed him - why would they want a man they considered a traitor? “And I spoke true. I wanted to know your cousin,” she enunciated this clearly to Jon, a strange thought beginning to form, “better. And, I do have news for you both.” Dany stared them both down hard before she said her next words. “Stannis, his red lady, and his onion knight have only shared this knowledge with me,” _Probably to garner my favor_ , Dany knew, but felt no need to say it out loud, “but they have found your brother.”

Sansa exhaled deeply while Jon exclaimed, “What?”

“Which one?” Jorah asked, his wise eyes never leaving hers. Dany smiled at him.

“Rickon Stark. He is safe on Skagos and can remain there if you please. Or he can journey back to Winterfell to become the Lord of Winterfell.”

“Bran’s still alive too,” Jon muttered. “I know I felt him… when the white walkers came for me... that last moment. I was by a heart tree… there are rumors of him as well... up North...”

Sansa touched Jon’s shoulder. “I saw Nymeria when we were in the Riverlands. She didn’t harm me… she…  she remembered me.” Sansa grinned wryly, “She growled at Ser Jaime, but kissed me.”

The Starks looked at each other, almost joyfully, in silence.

Dany remembered journeying across the Narrow Sea with Tyrion and how he’d make japes at his lady wife’s expense, speaking of her coldness, and the gravity of which all Northerners had, and she supposed he was right in a way.

But there was also so much life in that coldness and stillness. Had they not discovered that when they were fighting beings made of ice and death? For even death had possessed life.

She could feel the life now, the hope, the fears in their quiet hearts and it sped up her own.

“Do you think your sister is alive then too?” Jorah asked, after a moment.

“There are tales that she is. And I don’t speak of poor Jeyne Poole,” Jon said.

Sansa shook her head. “Poor Jeyne,” she said mournfully, her voice trembling. “It’s all my fault, it’s… it’s all my fault.”

And with that Sansa burst into tears. Jon wrapped his sister (his cousin) up in his arms and neatly glared at Jorah and Dany.

“If you’ll excuse us,” he commanded and Dany felt a strange, desperate need to obey. She almost struggled against the desire, but then thought better of it.

Still she had to say something. “Let me know what you have me do about your brother. He is in the company of a wildling woman who has been protecting him since Winterfell was burned. He is safe.”

Jon jerked his head in a strange sort of nod and then Dany rushed out… with her bear close behind her.

“That boy needs to learn respect,” Jorah said as soon as the door was closed. His slave’s markings made him look fiercer than usual, like a wild bear than a tame one.

If bears could be tamed.

“No,” Dany reprimanded. “Jon is not a boy. He is a King. And he was in the right. His cousin needed comfort.”

Jorah eyed her and she almost wanted to flush like a silly girl. He could tell she was thinking on something, but on what, she hoped he wouldn’t realize.

“You want them to marry,” he surmised. “And for Jon to abdicate his throne here to take over the North as Lord Paramount. Despite the fact he is a Targaryen and not a Stark.”

Dany almost smiled. “You should not say such things. King Jon and I are to marry.”

“As was stated in the peace accords signed moons ago,” Jorah said, offering his arm to help her down the stairs. She felt so small around him and was suddenly glad he was on her side.

Forever and always or so he promised when he found her again.

Dany almost ordered her new khalasar to take his head when they reunited, but could not bear the thought, instead she welcomed him back, so grateful to have him that she almost allowed him into her bed (but she, thankfully, did not). Although she knew she should have sent him far away, it did not seem wise to do so. Not when so much had fallen apart after she exiled him the first time.

And he did bring her Tyrion, her wise, odd little Hand.

“Yes, as it was signed,” Dany agreed, although she smiled.

“Stannis will be happy,” her bear said dryly and Dany knew quite well that her bear would not be.

Marrying Stannis would be the wisest thing to do for the Seven Kingdoms but the idea of marrying the Usurper’s brother made her stomach feel as though it was full of blood rather than bile.

But Stannis probably thought similarly of her. She was the daughter of the Mad King after all. And Stannis could actually remember her father’s terrible crimes against the realm.

Dany could not even say what the Usurper looked like. In her mind, he looked like Stannis.

“Stannis is never happy,” Dany corrected. “But yes, perhaps he’ll be intrigued by this notion. Jon does not want to be King, after all.”

“But it is said, that those who do not want it, are best suited for the crown.”

“Stannis does not want it either, but he feels that he is owed it, and that he must bear this duty.” And he has borne it well, Dany thought, remembering all that she heard from the hard-to-impress Northerners.

Who still only wanted their Starks, despite Stannis’ sacrifices. Or lack thereof, considering Stannis made sure not to give his lord R’hllor any Northern blood.

Surely, he would be a good King, possibly even better than Jon, but he would also be a terrifying one, a zealous one. Jon would not. Jon was a man who wanted to heal old wounds, but had learned that not all of them could heal.

He died learning that.

And only came back to life with the red woman’s help. Dany wondered if Melisandre regretted doing that, now that her King was replaced by Jon due to his Targaryen blood.

Dany sighed, “I cannot decide what to do now. There is so much happening.”

“You still need to judge the prisoners that are left in the dungeons,” Jorah reminded her. “Cersei Lannister especially needs to be dealt with.”

Dany had no interest in dealing with her. She almost pitied the former Queen. “Very well. We shall judge her within the fortnight.”

“That long, Khaleesi?”

Dany’s answer was short. “Yes.”

Jorah bowed his head, “As you say.”

Not long ago, Jorah would have argued, but he had learn to hold his tongue in front of his Khaleesi. Watching her ride a dragon that tore apart an army of White Walkers would do that to any sane man. And her dear bear was sane if nothing else.

Sane and loyal.

Very important qualities in a Hand, Dany had decided long ago, although she had still to inform Jorah of this change. Tyrion was good for war and rebuilding, but for peace... Dany needed Jorah. But perhaps, there was another role Jorah could fill, without insulting Tyrion, the Lord Paramount of the Westerlands.

But there was so much more to do before truly deciding upon a Small Council.

_So much more._


	3. Davos I

**DAVOS**

* * *

“I do not like this,” Lord Stannis declared in his chambers.

The light was streaming from the outside world into the dark room. The door to the balcony was open, wide, and inviting. Davos could hear the drifting sounds of the sea scaling rocks, of tradesmen shouting out deals, of pickpockets clanging together their prized coins. The smell of sweat, salt, and dirt penetrated the cool air, the city still recovering from the long winter, yet, it was already warm enough that no fire was needed in Lord Stannis’ chambers (although one still burned for the red woman).

Davos was home.

“You will be King, I have seen it in my flames,” the red woman consoled, although she didn’t look as sure as she had once.

And she shouldn’t be, Davos thought grimly. While her power was accurate, it had been learned, during the Long Night, that her interpretation was often quite wrong. Azor Ahai was not Lord Stannis after all, but Jon Snow, the bastard son of not Eddard Stark, but of Rhaegar Targaryen.

“Should we have told the Queen about Rickon?” Lord Stannis asked them, frowning. “That is probably what she speaks to the Starks of at this moment.”

“She should tell them,” Davos argued as deferentially as he could, his eyes not meeting his once King’s. “We did the right thing, my Lord. The Starks will be in our debt and the Queen will know of our loyalty.” _And it was the right thing to do - the boy should be with his family_ , Davos wanted to say, but knew better now.

Lord Stannis huffed, but Davos could sense that he was appeased by this reasoning for he changed topics. “I suspect that the Queen will annul Lady Sansa’s marriage. But I do not believe she’ll annul without intended plans for both Tyrion and Sansa. The Tyrells are already worming their way into the Queen’s ear, thanks to that fool Loras Tyrell, who seems to be the only one of the former Kingsguard to impress the Queen, so the Stark girl will probably be sent off to Willas or perhaps now to Garlan Tyrell, since he lost his wife during the winter.” Davos nodded. He remembered that the second son of Mace Tyrell had lost his wife to childbed fever. The maesters were too focused on the frozen bodies of their soldiers to worry about a woman in bed surrounded by septas. It was rumored that Garlan Tyrell called for every maester's head in his grief, wrecking the loyalty of Lord Hightower as well as the Citadel.

“Are you seeking her hand, milord?” Davos asked, almost afraid of the answer.

The red woman sniffed in distaste. “Lady Sansa is a child.”

“The Queen is not much older,” Stannis retorted with little malice. “But no, I am not. The Queen is why I am here. Jon Snow, Stark, or Targaryen, whichever he may be or call himself, shall not be King for long. Nor does he want to be.”

“He’s a wise man,” the red woman said, her red eyes shrewdly looking at Davos.

Davos wasn’t sure why her attention was gathered at him. “I agree,” he said honestly. “I think perhaps the Queen may intend Jon to take back the black.”

“The Night’s Watch will not have him,” Stannis declared, his mouth set in a grim line. “They killed him once and they’ll kill him again. He’ll go to Winterfell and rule in his brother’s name until the boy is of age, or perhaps…”

The red woman smiled. This made Davos very nervous.

“Perhaps what?” he dared to ask.

The red woman answered for Stannis. “Perhaps Rickon will stay in Skagos. And perhaps Jon will take Sansa back to Winterfell.”

This made sense to Davos, Rickon was too wild to truly understand the demands of Lordship, even if he started to learn now. Sansa could handle the Northern lords better than her youngest brother. “Of course.”

Her smile grew. It was almost frightening. “As his wife.”

This wasn’t right. “They were raised as brother and sister!”

“But they are not brother and sister,” Stannis said with impatience. His former King was more impatient now than before. The past years wrecked the little patience Stannis had to begin with. “And this may be the only way to guarantee Shireen’s inheritance.”

“The Queen cannot birth anymore children,” Lady Melisandre said. “It is known.”

“How is this known?” Davos demanded. “Who told you?”

She stared at him with amusement before answering. The amusement made Davos feel even stupider. “The Lord of Light.”

The Seven take Rh’llor and the red woman both. She was obviously lying. “Did he say so in your flames?” Davos asked impatiently.

She did not answer. “She is the mother of dragons. She needs no more children, she has hatched all the ones she needs — Shireen Baratheon will rule the Seven Kingdoms in her honor.”

Davos looked outside and remembered all that he had lost for this kingdom. Nearly all of his own children were gone forever - almost all of his sons lost to the worms and the fire and the sea. Only his own Stannis survived - poor, sweet Devan died protecting his King from wights, and young Steffon died of the pox in his mother’s arms. “What do you plan to do, milord?” Davos asked, tired. But he must serve Stannis or else the red woman would guide his lord on a path that should not be taken.

Stannis looked more like a King now than before. The only thing missing was the crown on his head. “I plan on watching and waiting. The war is over. I do not know these pieces or players as I had once. I will wait for the Queen to make her move… then I will make mine,” Stannis said, his face hard.

Davos frowned. “But shouldn’t we learn of the others?”

“Yes,” Stannis replied as if Davos asked a stupid question. “We need to keep tabs on the Imp and Lord Varys most of all. They are much too close.”

“I will take care of the dwarf,” Lady Melisandre declared.

“He will not fall for your tricks,” Davos warned, remembering what he had learned about the trial of Tyrion Lannister. The Imp’s whore had betrayed him and he had killed her for it. And would kill again. The poor woman only did as bid by those above her station (Davos understood this too well) and was punished for it by the now Hand of the Queen. Strangled in a bed by her once lover — Davos did not wish that sort of fate on anyone, not even for the terrible red woman. “He has been burned too much by his heart.”

“But not by his loins,” Lady Melisandre said, in a tone that allowed little room for debate. “He may not say a thing, but there are other ways to learn from a man while in bed.”

Davos frowned but decided it would be worse to argue. Lord Stannis looked more than convinced of the red woman’s plot. “What will happen if you succeed as King, milord?”

Stannis threw him a sharp look. “What do you mean? I will be King.”

Davos struggled to speak plainly. “But will Queen Daenerys allow you much power?” Davos thought not but declined to share this with his once King and forever lord. “Would she not condense her power for herself?”

“She can try.” Stannis’ nostrils flared, “But she will have little luck interacting with a country that has never known her to be anything but a spawn of a Mad King.”

 _He speaks as if he’s well-liked by the Seven Kingdoms_. “And if she can have children?” Davos pressed. “What if she quickens with a child of yours? Instead of Shireen —“

Stannis almost smiled. “Instead of Shireen, I could have a son, you mean? That would be no loss to me. And Shireen would be pleased to have a brother. She is not power-hungry. She is dutiful.”

Like her father. “Have you decided —“

“Have I decided whether to marry Shireen off to some noble’s second son or not yet?” Stannis’ smile disappeared. “No. I have not.”

“She must marry a loyal servant of Rh’llor,” Melisandre interjected, her eyes red and bright. “That is the only way to bend the world to flame.”

Not the only way, Davos thought grimly, remembering the wildfire of the Imp’s that took his sons, remembering the flames of the dragon that burned the White Walkers until their white skin was as dark as the never-ending sea.

The Imp should be dead for doing such a thing and yet he was alive - without a nose, but alive and horrible. He was too intelligent, Davos knew, much too intelligent. The only men that could rival the Imp’s intelligence during the War of the Five Kings were the treacherous Petyr Baelish and the eunuch Varys.

Remembering his interaction with Lord Manderly, Davos almost smiled. Perhaps there was actually another, a Northerner, who could match the Imp. But that mattered little. All that mattered was that Davos knew he could not match the Imp’s wits. Even if Stannis was to become King, Davos could not be the Hand nor be one the Small Council. He would go back to his home on Cape Wrath, perhaps even back to Flea Bottom, and be with his wife and his only living son. He would serve Stannis to his death but he could not serve with the man who had killed his eldest sons... could he?

Davos remembered the way Lady Sansa held onto the Kingslayer’s arm as he helped her out of the saddle the day before. He had been one of the few to see the three arrive (although the warriors had come before the Lady, months ago, and had left the Red Keep to retrieve her for the Queen). Davos had hid amongst the crowd that gathered at the steps in order to see them. The Lady Sansa was as beautiful as the songs promised, but what was more interesting to Davos was how she held tightly onto Ser Jaime Lannister - the man who had destroyed her household guard and injured her father irreparably before his fated execution. The Kingslayer and the Northern Princess had become almost friends in their time together, yet Davos could barely face the small man who had only been defending his home and family from invaders.  

Davos left Lord Stannis’ rooms with grim thoughts and sought solace in the forsaken godswood.

Lord Stannis would not have been pleased to see him there, nor would have Davos only a year or two before. But the Northern gods hidden in the weirwood trees seemed almost right to him now after his time fighting White Walkers in the Northern forests. The Seven were still his gods and would forever be so, but he wanted to pay his respects to the old gods after facing down Rh’llor in Melisandre’s red eyes.

 _Princess Shireen was alive and that was something to be thankful for_ , he thought trying to remember something good, bowing his head at the stump that used to be a heart tree. The little princess - no, the little lady, she wasn’t a princess now despite being third in line for the Iron Throne - was alive when so many were not. The Queen was fond of the younger girl and Davos wondered if the Queen saw her as a sister or as a daughter. The Mother of Dragons was just that, a mother at her heart, and so it would surprise Davos if the red woman was right about the Queen’s barren womb, for he could easily imagine the Queen with sons and daughters at her feet, smiling down at them with as much love as his own wife had for his dead sons. Yet... if the Queen could not bear children, the throne would be Shireen’s, unless Stannis or Jon outlived the Queen (although Davos thought that Stannis was right, Jon did not want the throne).

Regardless of if Stannis married the Queen, it would not surprise Davos if usurpers came to steal the throne away. Even now the Tyrells watched them all eagerly, waiting to descend upon them like buzzards on a battlefield. The Martells too attempted to place the boy Trystane, the one who had been promised to the child Myrcella by the Imp, in the Queen’s eye, hoping that she’d marry him, but she wisely only smiled and thanked them for their service. Davos suspected that she was unsure of how to treat all of these allies now that the war against man and death was won.

Davos’ leg creaked and he resisted sitting on top of the weirwood stump, knowing how holy it was, instead, he chose to sit beside it. What a tragedy it was that these were all destroyed in the South. It was a malicious act, as malicious as Lady Melisandre’s burning of the Seven. The Northerners could have their gods, the red woman could have hers, and Davos could have his. What did it matter if they had different gods? They all worked together against death.

If Stannis did marry the Queen, would all of Westeros burn their gods in Rh’llors name? The Queen didn’t seem to share any faith, although she once had her own red priest by her side, Moqorro.

Davos was glad when the evil man died in the Long Night. He had thanked the Warrior and the Crone and the Stranger the moment it happened and would have thanked the other four if it weren’t for the wight attack that followed.

But still, the Queen had spent enough time with the red priest that Davos wondered if she had been convinced by his ruse, the way it was rumored that Victarion Greyjoy was - until Moqorro betrayed the drowned man for Queen Daenerys.

Davos dug his hand in the dirt, feeling its graininess. The ground wasn’t as hard as it once was, he noted, that meant spring truly was coming. It’d be easier for the farmers to plow and plant their wheat. The smallfolk suffered the most during these years, Davos wished the nobles would remember that. The population of Westeros was decimated, he was sure that if the Esssosi truly wanted to, they could attack with just a puff of an army and Westeros’ flame would be extinguished.

The Kingsguard - or Queensguard, depending on how things went, would have to be established again, especially since there was no heir. It would only take one assassin, one angry peasant, or a former sparrow to take down the monarchy. The Queen had suffered enough assassination attempts on her young life even before she arrived in Westeros and King Jon had already died once. Even if King Jon was swept away for King Stannis, that move would be easier if it was King Jon bowing his head and giving away his crown than if Jon was murdered in cold blood by a Dornishman or Iron Islander or whoever else wanted Jon’s head off.

“Ser Davos?” Jon Snow - King Jon greeted just outside the godswood as Davos left, feeling more troubled then when he had entered. The young man looked like he was about to go in the godswood, his face heavy with his own worries. _Why would anyone want to be King_ , Davos wondered. “Is something the matter?” the King asked him, looking concerned when Davos didn’t immediately return his greeting.

“I’m sorry, your Grace,” Davos said. “I was thinking.”

“About what?” the young King asked, his dark beard obscuring his smile.

Davos sighed, knowing how stubborn royals were, but felt the need to speak his mind plainly, the way he did with Lord Stannis. “I think you should reinstate the Kingsguard as soon as possible.”

King Jon shook his head, his smile quirked. “That is up to my aunt,” he said, “not to me.”

“You may be in danger.”

“From whom?” the King asked, almost smiling. “It’d be quite the song if I survived death, White Walkers, and dragonflame just to die now.”

“There are stranger songs than that, your Grace. But I am interrupting your time here, your Grace, my apologies.”

“Davos, just call me Jon,” the King said, his eyes tired. “From what I hear, I owe you a great debt...” This confirmed that the Queen told the Starks about Rickon. Davos felt relieved - the secret didn’t have to be a secret any longer. The boy could go home. To Winterfell. “And I suspect we all know that this crown on my head will not be on here for much longer,” Jon added.

“You should not speak that way,” Davos admonished, trying to keep his voice low. “Everyone is looking for a weakness in this new rule.”

“Including Stannis?” King Jon laughed at the expression on Davos’ face. “I believe he deserves this more than I.”

“But you mustn’t say it out loud,” Davos cautioned, worried for the young man. After his death, Jon came back to life with a desperate need for honesty and family. It was no wonder the man spoke such truths out loud after his experience, but it made Davos nervous.

“I thought you were for King Stannis,” Jon asked. “Are you not?”

“I am a loyal man, King Jon, and I do not want to see the Seven Kingdoms bleed again in my lifetime. Keep your worries to your chest, if not for yourself, for your family.”

“You sound like Sansa,” the King murmured. “But I suppose you are both in the right. Have you spoken to my sister yet?” he asked. “I suspect you’d get along.”

“I haven’t had the pleasure of speaking to your cousin, Lady Lannister,” Davos said, quietly correcting him.

Jon’s smile was wry. “She will always be my sister to me. And do not call her Lady Lannister to her face, I think she’ll only abide it in the presence of her husband.”

“I will try to remember that, your Grace.”

Jon slapped Davos’ shoulder. “I must leave you now, Ser, and greet my gods. That is if Lady Melisandre hasn’t attempted to burn the godswood down yet.”

“She won’t dare to do that,” Davos lied, not truly sure of the red woman’s plans.

King Jon laughed. “I’m sure she will, once Stannis is King.”

“King Jon-” Davos said, reaching to clutch at his fingers. But they were long gone.

“I know, speak my thoughts to no one,” the young man sighed. “I truly do know nothing here.”

“It is wise to recognize that,” Davos said. “Only the smartest men can admit that they know nothing. I know I'm only an onion knight, but I've seen much in my long life, your Grace, and that is the marking of a truly wise man.”

The King smiled, although it was a sad one, as he left Davos at the entrance to the godswood. “I suppose I’m the wisest of all men if that is true.”

_Wise King Jon and the Mother of Dragons._

If only that could be what happened.

But Lord Stannis was a just man, a just lord, who would bring the Seven Kingdoms back from this terrible brink... and King Jon _would not._


	4. Jaime I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime tries to hold his tongue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NGL this chapter is basically me going Jaime and Brienne!!!!!! It was originally more plotty but a lot of things changed while I've been editing this story so now it's more filler.

**JAIME**

* * *

 

The wench was glaring at him, her blue eyes pursuing his every move. A scowl caressed her ruined face - the scar upon her cheek somehow turning even redder than it was already. Jaime thought he would have grown used to its presence. As used as he was by her large mouth, lack of breasts, and awkward gait. But he wasn’t - he was not used to the mark of Biter nor could he stand to see the rope mark around Brienne’s neck. The thought of her hanging -  _for him_ \- woke him up in the middle of the night more than the nightmares of Tyrion burning Cersei alive with his dragon.

“What is it?” the wench finally demanded, leaning against the side of the castle’s stone walls as if she could no longer keep herself upright. The day had been long. Much more important men than Jaime occupied both of their time. These courtiers demanded timelines and descriptions of horrible things - for the histories, they all said with strange smiles. In reality it was to determine Jaime’s worthiness, to determine if Brienne was a Kingslayer (since Stannis was still denying his part in his brother’s death and the Tyrells wanted justice for their favored King), to determine if they should both be killed despite the Targaryen Queen’s pardons (although none of them mentioned this option, Jaime knew it was on the table, just in an unauthorized manner). It was no wonder the wench was tired after such a day - Jaime was also worn. It took a lot of effort not to slice his enemies apart with words or a sword. 

Thank the Seven for Addam Marbrand, who was somehow still living, somehow still loyal, somehow still  _good._  He was the one who rescued them from the court by requesting their presence - somehow overriding the Northerners and Southerners and Dornishmen alike. The man was able to get them out from under the courtiers’ tongues just from sheer good manners.

Jaime had never possessed those, _no true lion did_ , so he grinned broadly at the men who wanted to stab a knife in his back, and left the room, following the wench’s long walk.

She really did look tired - and angry too, although Jaime didn’t understand why, especially since it seemed directed at him. He had protected Brienne from the worst of the questioning, or so he thought, but perhaps that’s why her glare was so hard. She didn’t like that she needed to be protected. “What do you mean, what is it? I’m just looking at you, you should be used to that by now.”

A few months ago, Brienne the Maid would have blushed, but although she was still a maid, she was also much harder than before. She was no sweet, soft, summer creature any longer - no, Brienne was a knight of winter. She was stronger than any man Jaime had ever known and even the Sword of Morning would envy her chivalrous nature, her goodness -  _her heart_.

Not that you could tell any of that by looking at her now. Her eyes were sharper than the blade she wore, “Why did you tell them about Lady Stoneheart? We didn’t tell the Queen!”

“The Queen already knows. Sansa told her, did you not hear the murmurings before we were summoned?” Jaime thought that this was possibly why they were summoned at all - to see if they neglected any other part of their story. He wouldn’t have even neglected to mention the former Lady Catelyn Stark nor the wretched thing she became, if Sansa had not demanded it of them. Jaime was in no place to ignore demands from Starks... or Tullys.

He did the best he could as a Lannister for Lord Edmure Tully and his Frey bride and as a man - as a  _knight_ \- he did the best he could for Sansa Stark. He broke no oath to Catelyn Stark, in his mind, despite her second death. And now that the wars were finally, achingly done, he thought that he could stop. That he could find a home someplace far away from this shit of a city and just shut out all of it, finally, all at once.

But the Queen  _had_  to summon him - the golden Targaryen Queen of Westeros. Jaime hated her on sight, all she did was remind him of his failures.

How he failed Rhaegar. How he didn’t save Elia. How he let Aegon and Rhaenys be butchered by his own father’s men all while he sat and waited on the Iron Throne. Waited for someone to show.

How the dirty blood of Mad King went through the Queen’s veins.

Would she become as mad as Aerys? Jaime didn’t want to know the answer.

She did not seem mad, but neither did Aerys in his youth, according to most who knew him. It only took a snap to change a Targaryen from a sane creature to one who would swallow wildfire to become a dragon.

Brienne hit him on the shoulder.

He cursed. She didn’t hold back - her punch would certainly leave a bruise. “Seven hells, what was that for?”

“You aren’t listening to me!”

“I was preoccupied.”

Her gaze softened then and the transformation was almost immediate. Her eyes were so blue - so big and feminine that it made Jaime smile to see them. “Your sister?” she asked, hesitant.

He could feel his smile disappear. “No,” he said, not willing to think on Cersei. “I can do nothing for her now.”

Brienne chewed on her lip, reminding Jaime of a cow with grass. “You could ask to visit her?”

Jaime snorted. “That would accomplish only one thing - the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms distrusting me more than she already does. No, the next time I shall see Cersei will be at her beheading.”

“Jaime,” Brienne said, soft and quiet, almost like a whisper. Her hand reached out and touched his shoulder, and he could feel her calluses through the flimsy cloth that covered him. “Perhaps she won’t be killed - many worse than her have not been, well, at least not yet - “

“She will.”

Brienne opened her mouth to say something again but was interrupted by a shout. Addam reached them, nearly panting. “The Queen has decided to judge Cersei within a fortnight.”

Brienne’s eyes met Jaime’s and he tightly smiled. “I told you, wench.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” she protested, but Jaime moved past her, down the hall, not eager to lend more information to Varys.

It would almost be a mercy to free Cersei from this world. To relieve her from her suffering.

But still the thought only brought him... nothing.

He couldn’t think of it. Her death by any hands made him feel absolutely nothing.

Jaime could sense that the wench and Addam were following him, their murmured words almost a balm. He should have been annoyed at their presence, but their worries made him not think of Cersei any longer. Brienne’s presence in particular distracted Jaime from any thoughts he had about his sweet sister.

How many times had he huddled next to Brienne on frozen ground? How many times had they saved one another? How many times could her mouth quirk in annoyance even as her blue eyes smiled at his teasing barbs? How many times could they share stories they had told no one else? How many times could he figure out he loved her before he admitted it out loud?

It was a different sort of love than the one he held for Cersei but just as potent, if not as sexually overwhelming. He did not dream of her cunt at night as much as he dreamed about her eyes and her wide lips. Although he did dream about the bath at Harrenhal. And the womanly dip that led to Brienne's hips as well as her meagre breasts that he could easily hold in his hands... if he had  _hands._

He walked into his chambers. His new residence was so much smaller than the one that he used to occupy as Lord Commander. It was even tinier than the ones he once shared with Cersei in Casterly Rock. He was no one now - not a Lord Commander, not a Lord Paramount (that was now Tyrion’s duty). He was not even an heir - he was a simple disinherited Knight who was probably off to the Wall as soon as the Targaryen Queen charged his sister with treason and conspiracy and murder and whatever else the Queen wanted to charge Cersei with - there were so many terrible things that Cersei did.

Jaime had helped Cersei with much of it and yet he stood free and she did not.

It wasn’t fair really. But nothing was in this world.

Brienne followed him into the chambers, Addam close behind her, his stride not as long as hers. “Jaime,” Addam started to say, sounding as if he was going to apologize or express condolences or one of those awful things.

“No speaking of terrible things in this dingy room. Why, it’s depressing enough. Even Brienne almost looks pretty in this ugly room, the grey stone highlights her blue eyes.”

She said nothing too used to his quips to react although Addam looked nearly scandalized. Had his old friend become an old bore?

Whatever the matter with Addam, it was true of Brienne. She did look rather... fetching in here as she placed herself on Jaime’s tiny bed. There was not much room, with Jaime and Addam taking up space in the middle of the chambers. And the wench was tired, he could see her holding in a yawn now, her jaw wrenched. 

He wanted to order her to sleep but knew that would do nothing but annoy her and frighten Addam, who was still very unused to how close Jaime and Brienne were, although Jaime could not blame his friend for that.

Most lovers were not as close as they, nor were most siblings, nor friends - they had an intimacy that could not be described by any phrase alone. Brienne had once been his enemy, his savior, his maiden in distress, his ally, his  _friend_ , his comrade, his betrayer - she was still all this (save enemy) and more to him now. Because he loved her in a way he had loved no one else and probably always would. Just as he still stupidly loved his family despite their sins. He would love Brienne even if she betrayed him ( _again_  - for Lady Stoneheart still hung above his head).

“Jaime, we have to determine a defense for your sister.”

“I am not doing trial by combat,” Jaime said. Addam looked to Jaime’s stump and nodded, thinking he understood the reason. But he didn’t.

“I will,” a quiet voice said.

Jaime cursed. “By the seven hells, wench, no you will not.” Brienne’s face was thoughtful and he did not like it.

“She’s a mother,” Brienne said, her voice somehow softer than before.

“She’s not Catelyn Stark,” Jaime warned, feeling his face twist in a scowl. Brienne winced. “Cersei made Joffrey who he was - you saw the scars on Sansa’s back.”

Brienne shook her head. “You can’t know that - “

Jaime’s laugh felt hollow. “Of course I can, I was there!” There at Joffrey’s conception - there when the little brat idolized the man he thought was his father - how could they not see what he was becoming?

Addam watched them carefully. “I could also volunteer.”

“No one will die for Cersei,” Jaime said, angry. How could Cersei ruin even  _this_? “We will allow the Queen to judge her in another way. Cersei can hire her own stooge if she wants a trial by combat, just as she did at her last trial - none of us will fight for her.”

“But - “ Brienne started to say, but Jaime stared her down.

“I will not lose you to this nonsense,” he told her. Brienne turned pink, even her scars and freckles looked pink and he wondered if the rest of her was pink as well.

Addam’s cough broke the tension that mounted in the air, opening the door to leave. “I will go and find witnesses for her trial then.”

“Don’t bother,” Jaime said. “Tyrion will find his own and they’ll be better. It’ll be his own sort of twisted vengeance after the mockery that was his own trial.”

For so long after Tyrion escaped, Jaime had thought Tyrion had truly killed his son - had killed Joffrey. Tyrion’s lie was only revealed to him when Sansa told them the truth of the matter. That the Queen of Thorns performed the deed with the help of Littlefinger.

Jaime could not muster up anger towards the old woman, she was protecting her grandchild. Olenna Tyrell would not allow a rose to be torn apart by a lion. Joffrey was only seed in Cersei’s cunt after all.

Or so Jaime liked to tell himself as Sansa told Brienne the stories of the scars that danced upon her skin.

Jaime and Cersei created two children together... and one Aerys Targaryen.

“Jaime?” the wench said. “I think I will follow Addam out.” She was still sitting on his bed, looking worn and ready to sleep, her eyes red from the effort of staying awake. It had been such a long day.

“Sleep, Brienne,” he ordered, feeling almost like a Lord Commander again. It was a nice feeling. “You need your beauty rest.”

“This is your room,” she reminded him but he just laughed.

“What’s mine is yours, haven’t we shared beds before?”

Brienne’s response was dry although her mouth didn't even twitch. “I don’t think straw or snow counts as a bed.”

“Perhaps it should,” he shot back, grinning at her expression. “Go to sleep. Everyone thinks you sleep here anyways.”

She didn’t even blink at the insinuation. “All the more reason not to,” she said, attempting to get up, but Jaime beat her to it, pushing her shoulders down so she couldn’t move, although it was difficult to force her down with only one hand.

“Jaime,” Brienne said, moaning in exhaustion. He almost wanted to kiss her to see if she would say it in another way - how many ways could she say his name?

But he didn’t dare do it, too aware of what it would change between them, too aware that she would be desperately hurt by him. “Brienne,” he said instead, smiling at her the way he imagined a friend would. “Go to bed.”

And for once the stubborn wench followed his command. 


	5. Cersei I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cersei sees her twin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is sort of back, lol. Hope you enjoy!

**CERSEI**

* * *

 

When Jaime came to see her, she had not recognized him. He looked even less like himself than the last time he returned to her, years before, when he was missing half a hand and all of his muscles. Now his gaze was soft instead of hard,  and there was no smile dancing upon his lips as he looked at her. He looked like an old man.

_Their father had never looked old._

Even Tyrion had a spine made of gold and there Jaime stood, looking at her piteously as if his spine was made of iron instead of gold. She hated him. She detested him. He wasn’t a true Lannister.

After all, would a _true Lannister_ allow himself to be led along by wolves like a sheep to the slaughter? Targaryen guards -- or were they Stark guards, it was too dark to see -- stood side by side with her brother. They kept glancing at him warily as if the unarmed cripple could still defeat them all without a fight.

They were terribly mistaken.

“Why are you here?” Cersei demanded although it came out as more of a sneer than a demand. She didn’t care. She could sneer all she wanted. She was the true Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, not that whore that reigned above her.

“The Queen gave me -”

“She is not the Queen,” Cersei heard herself say. “I am.”

Her brother’s eyes met hers. “Cersei, Queen Daenerys has given me leave to see you once before she calls judgement on your deeds.”

“And not your deeds?” Cersei almost laughed. “Have you fucked your way into the little dragon’s cunt? Should we be expecting her to lay another egg now?”

One of the guards made a sharp movement, but the moment he did, Jaime glared and the man stopped in his tracks, although a growl still escaped his throat. A throat Cersei desperately wanted to cut.

Perhaps her brother wasn’t as useless as she presumed.

“Cersei,” her brother said. “You will die.”

He looked at her as if she was mad. Cersei supposed he had heard what the wretched smallfolk said when he came back. Cersei had heard the jeers of the people as the dragons flew above the Red Keep. “Rid us of the Mad Queen,” they cried to the Mad King’s daughter. As if Daenerys Targaryen wasn’t as mad as her father. As if Cersei was mad at all.

She smiled at her brother. “I will not die. She is not the valonqar.”

Jaime’s pity turned to anger and his emerald eyes flashed in the darkness. _At last_ , she thought, _at last, I see my twin alive again._ “Cersei, this is not a game,” he warned, his only usable hand flexing as if he wanted to strike her. “There is no valonqar.”

“There is!” she insisted. “It’s the Imp.”

“Tyrion is not your downfall, you’re your own!” Jaime said, his voice hushed and low in fury.

“I will live,” Cersei said again, remembering Maggy’s prophecy. “Tommen and Myrcella are still alive so I shall live.” Tommen was with the whore of Highgarden, but at least he wasn’t in the clutches of the Dragon Queen.

And Myrcella, her once beautiful daughter, left without an ear, was still in Dorne, her lingering beauty still able to reach her once-betrothed. Myrcella was wily, she was a Lannister, she would make Dorne hers, and then take the Seven Kingdoms by storm. The Dragon Bitch underestimated her daughter just as Cersei once underestimated Daenerys herself.

The little bitch should know better.

“Cersei,” Jaime pleaded. “Please, _sister_ , there is no Ser Robert Strong to save you now.”

She knew that. Ser Robert Strong died in dragon fire. Tyrion’s own dragon had done it as he and the dragon bitch took the Red Keep, only a few months earlier.

Cersei rubbed her hands on the stone floor. She could feel the etchings in the rock that previous occupants had made. She wondered if Ned Stark had stayed in this cell before... she wondered what he thought of as he waited to die. Did he think of his precious, awful daughters? Of the men Jaime killed? Of his son Robb brutalizing the Seven Kingdoms as he called for his father’s freedom? “You will not save me then?” she asked her brother. “You will not save your most beloved sister from here?” _You saved Tyrion, why not me? He killed our son and you saved him, why won’t you save me?_

Jaime looked down and didn’t answer her query. _I did nothing but love you and protect our children and you throw me to the dragons._ “I wouldn’t want a cripple defending me,” Cersei declared, angry. “I don’t want you near the trial. You will curse me not save me.”

“I would not curse you,” Jaime protested, coming close enough to the bars of her cell that she saw the guards look at one another worriedly.

“Leave me,” she ordered. “I will call upon my own warrior.”

“And who will that be, Cersei?” Jaime asked, his impatience clear in his voice. As if he were still a boy. “Lancel is weak and holy now, you cannot pierce his heart any longer with your tales of womanly woe. I am a cripple, as you so kindly pointed out. Robert Strong is finally dead. Qyburn is a maester not a warrior and is to be banished from here as soon as you are dealt with. You destroyed any other alliances you could have had, Cersei. You did this, no one else did.”

Cersei leapt up, growling, and reached the bars so quickly that one of the guards behind jumped. She gripped the steel hard as she could as she bared her teeth to her brother. “You- you act as if you are so innocent, _brother,”_ she spat. “You killed the Dragon Bitch’s father. You pushed the Stark boy out the window. You attacked Ned Stark in the streets of King’s Landing. You were going to let the High Sparrow kill me. You let the Tyrell slut win.”

“The Gods judged you without sin,” Jaime said, his voice light. Cersei knew this tone well and so narrowed her eyes at her brother. “You were declared innocent... as was Lady Margaery,” he smiled. _He toys with me as if he is so secure in his place now. How dare he toy with the rightful Queen. He was nothing - I was always the strong one,_ **_I lead him_ ** _._

“Why have you not arrested him?” Cersei asked the guards who looked much too relaxed in their presence. The Dragon Bitch should burn them for their behavior. “He should be rotting here with me.”

_He should die with me._

They said nothing, although one pulled at her brother’s shoulder, indicating that they should leave. “I am trying to find witnesses on your behalf, dear sister,” Jaime said. “But none will come. Who will come to defend you to the death?”

She sneered. “I should have worn the armor, and you the skirts.”

Jaime bowed his head. She wondered if he was thinking of his whore, the woman who wanted to be a man. “You have said this before. You may be right - we may have saved a kingdom if we had done just that,” he said, before leaving her with a mocking bow.

She was alone again.

The Dragon Queen would not kill her. _But Tyrion would_. She was surprised that the Imp had not visited since she had been placed down here by his pet dragon. How could the valonqar resist taunting her?

How could the Imp resist killing her and her children? It was his fate. It was all he ever wanted - he slapped Joffrey, threatened Tommen, killed Joffrey, sent Myrcella off to Dorne. He sent her off to Dorne so they would kill her for him. The Dornish were all vipers, all of them, and they only wanted to see the Lannisters fall - they wanted to relish in it.

Tyrion would kill her as he planned on killing her children.

Unless she found a way to kill him first.


	6. Tyrion I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A marriage ends.

**TYRION**

* * *

 

The wine was poured into sterling silver goblets, something his father would have blanched at — there was no silver in Casterly Rock — yet Tyrion could not bring himself to care what his father would have wanted.

His father was dead and he still didn’t know where whores went.

So he drank silver instead of gold.

“My lord,” His wife said to him, her blue eyes bright. _Our children could have had blue eyes like yours_ , he wanted to tell her. _You could have named them Ned and Robb and Catelyn for all I cared._

_They were better names than Tywin and Cersei and Lancel._

“My lady,” he smiled. She poorly hid a wince. And he had thought being rejected by the Dragon Queen had hurt. At least Daenerys had reasons and had rejected others just as unworthy for her hand.

No one could hold a candle to her Khal Drogo — although why this was Tyrion didn’t understand. The Dothraki were splendid warriors but they were the antithesis of Daenerys, killing and raping women and children without a thought. Even now the Dothraki were a problem, roaming the Riverlands finishing what Gregor Clegane started.

Edmure Tully had already petitioned Tyrion about it, sending off ravens. He refused to leave Riverrun, afraid that it would be taken from him again, most like. Which was smart - Tyrion was sure many did want the castle and the title, and there was only Edmure and a small child to keep them from it.

Sansa held her drink in her hand. “Why have you called me to your rooms?” His lady wife was chilly as he expected, although she hid it better than she had in her youth. He supposed he was lucky she agreed to meet with him at all and without her once brother Jon Snow lurking behind her back.

Jon Snow was a curiosity. Tyrion had liked him as a boy, despite his dramatic tendencies. As a man... _he looks at my wife with the sort of love that is unbecoming of a once brother._

“You are my wife,” he reminded her, almost enjoying the way her mouth twisted. “Are you not?”

Sansa hesitated before speaking. _She was still learning._ Sansa was smart, but not smart enough for him. “Queen Daenerys has said —“

“She is a Queen, she is like to change her mind, is she not? Have you not experienced enough Queens to know this?”

Sansa’s face folded into a polite smile. “You would know more of Queens than I, my lord husband.”

She was good. Littlefinger taught her well. A less clever man would fall for it.

But he was too clever for her. “Now what has our Queen said to you, my lady wife?”

“She has spoken of many things, my lord. Things I do not quite understand, to be sure, but they seemed important—”

“Important? I should know of important things. Tell me of them.”

Sansa flushed. “I do not know if I should betray a Queen’s confidence, my lord.”

“I am her Hand, I may know of what she speaks.”

“If you forgive me, my lord, I do not like speaking of other’s conversations. It does not bode well for anyone. If you remember my father, he spoke of others and was told untruths by others, so I would rather not speak at all.”

“Did she tell you not to tell me of it, my lady? Speak.”

She smiled. “She did not, my lord. But still, I should stay silent lest I misspeak. I would not be able to do our Queen justice by retelling tales.”

He could take no more of this. He thought he was stronger, strong enough to fight her and her courtesies, debate her, love her, but seeing her face like that, smug and arrogant — he could not bear it any longer. Slamming his hands on the wooden table, he shouted at his wife, the cold Northern princess she was, “Do not speak as if you know nothing —“

Sansa smile grew smaller. _She was ice._

He almost hated her. “Only wise men know something and I am neither wise nor a man,” she said.

“Neither am I. I am a half-man and if you ask Varys I am definitely not wise, but yet, dear wife, you assume I know things.”

A spark of color lit up her cheeks but she said nothing. “Have I married a mute?” Tyrion asked her, his annoyance growing. “Or are you taking after your brother?”

“Which brother?” She was looking at him now. Sansa looked so angry that for a moment Tyrion was reminded of Cersei. “The one your brother threw out a window? The one your father had murdered at my uncle’s wedding? Or perhaps you mean my cousin, _your King_.” She stared at him, her glare so powerful that he almost looked away.

 _Jon Snow shall not be King for long if the Queen has her way and if Stannis has his._ “You forgave my brother for his misdeeds and I killed my father so I’m not sure why you are so angry at _me_. I enacted vengeance. Just for my wife.” _Not you, you wretched girl. Not vengeance for an angry noble’s daughter who detested the sight of me but for a peasant girl, who loved me._

 _Where do whores go?_ “You have no quarrel with me, my lovely wife. I am not your enemy,” Tyrion said.

Sansa’s grip on her goblet tightened but she took no more sips. He wondered if she thought of Cersei every time she drank… or if she thought of him. “What do you want from me?”

“We should consummate our marriage and unite Westeros —“

“No.”

Her eyes had changed from blue to steel with a second. He almost smiled at her. “And why is that, my dear? Have feelings for another?”

“I will not consummate this marriage,” Sansa said, ignoring his bait. “Not even if the Queen wished it and not even if her Hand wished it.”

Tyrion did allow himself a grin then. “I may be a little Hand but I do have a large manhood.”

She did not blush, just stared at him, reminding him of her mother. Catelyn Stark was in her eyes. Staring, judging...

Ned Stark was in her eyes as well.

“Tyrion, the Queen intends to dissolve the betrothal," she finally conceded, breaking her gaze to stare into her wine. Despite this admittance, Tyrion still wasn't sure who had won the battle

“And how is your Lord Snow taking this? I believed he was quite taken with Daenerys.” Tyrion knew this was untrue. It was obvious Jon Snow cared nothing for Daenerys. And she cared nothing for him. Even if neither knew this to be true. It was more amusing this way and made it much easier to control them both.

Sansa pursed her lips. “Queen Daenerys,” she corrected. “And King Jon.”

“That still doesn’t answer my question.”

“The Queen has chosen to dissolve it and that is all that matters.”

“And then what becomes of your brother’s crown?” he asked his wife. “Will he wear it or chuck it in the sea?”

Sansa’s gaze hardened. “He is still your King and deserves respect.”

“That is all well and good, but Daenerys is my King and my Queen. She is the true ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, bastard of Rhaegar or no.”

“He is a trueborn son,” Sansa argued. _But was he really_ , Tyrion wondered. Was Lyanna Stark Rhaegar's whore or his second wife? “And bastards could rule well if only they were taught to rule.”

Tyrion tutted. “You should know your history better than that, my dear wife.”

She flinched. “I know it well enough. I know it well enough to see that even second sons can rule well."

He started to feel distinctly uncomfortable. “Good, my lady, we have got to the point. We shall ask for an annulment tomorrow morning, you, I, and the Queen.”

“Are you to marry the Queen then?” Sansa asked.

To be free of Sansa and to marry the woman who had brought dragons to life would be better than anything Tyrion could have wished. “To my knowledge, I am not,” he said cheerfully. “I believe that honor currently still belongs to your King, and mine, Jon Snow.”

She didn't correct him. “For now,” Sansa said instead, sighing. "And we shall speak of this no longer. You are her Hand, you know what is to happen. What time are we meeting the septons in the morrow?”

“We shall gather you from your rooms as soon as the dawn breaks. If that is all right with you, wife?”

She nodded and got up to leave, but not before saying something quite peculiar. “Thank you for not listening to your father. I did not understand then but — you were not cruel to me. You were kind, kind as you could be.”

Tyrion forced his mouth to shut and then smiled at his wife. “Ah well, you know I always loved defying my Father. When he said, _‘Don’t shoot me!’_ I said, ‘ _Ah, but now I must.’_ ”

Sansa didn’t smile.

He shrugged at her. “I would apologize, my lady, but I wouldn’t mean it.”

“No,” she said, her voice resigned. “No, you wouldn’t.”

* * *

The next morning was bright — winter had truly ended if the warmth was any indication. Still, Tyrion shivered under Jon’s glare. Sansa had brought her cousin, the King, with her and he eyed Tyrion with distaste.

_It’s not my fault I’m married to her. It’s not my fault she won’t love me. It's not my fault she cannot see past my face and body._ _It's not my fault. I once was your friend, Jon, when you were buried in Snow. Do not leave that friendship behind because of this._

“So,” Tyrion said ignoring Jon's stares. “Are we off to a sept?”

The Great Sept of Baelor had been destroyed - whether it was destroyed by Cersei or Dragonfire (when Daenerys conquered King's Landing) was up for debate by the singers, but he assumed his lady wife was joyous over it in either case. 

Her father had died there.

“No need,” Jon said, his expression grim. “The new High Septon is coming here. We are meeting within the godswood.”

Tyrion blinked. “I forgot you traded your mother’s gods for your father’s,” he said to Sansa, remembering how she practically lived in the godswood during the early days of their marriage.

She didn’t smile. “I traded nothing.”

“So you have traded your father’s gods for your mother’s?” Tyrion asked Jon, feeling the need for a jape. The boy needed to smile or he would end up like Stannis.

Jon’s frown only grew and he didn’t answer Tyrion. _He is more morose now than he was even as a boy in the first thrust of manhood._

“Well,” Tyrion said, “Does the septon know to meet us there?”

“He will,” Jon said.

_Supremely helpful and enlightening._

Tyrion almost wished Jaime was here, making japes and a mockery of the whole thing. Yet he was more grateful he wasn’t. He still couldn’t stand to look at Cersei’s twin. Still couldn’t stand to see the man who had lied about _her._

_Where do whores go, brother?_

If the rumors were true, they went to Jaime’s bed, but Tyrion doubted the rumors. The rumors also said within the same breath that Jaime was in love with his lady knight, Brienne of Tarth, the woman who had saved Sansa, and Jaime wouldn’t be in love with an ugly woman. Jaime was only in love with Cersei or himself.

He had to be.

Queen Daenerys was already at the godswood, the High Septon standing nervously by her side, looking around the godswood with immense distaste. “Are you ready?” the Dragon Queen asked.

Tyrion nodded and Sansa soon followed suit, although she curtsied as she bowed her head in assent. It annoyed Tyrion to see his wife so courteous although he wasn’t sure why.

Mayhap he wanted her to weep over him, to lose her courtesies and beg the Queen for Tyrion’s love and his name. But Sansa Stark was no whore - she would not call Tyrion her great lion of Casterly Rock, she would not admire his cock, she would not blush as he touched her.

She would cringe.

He almost wanted to stop this - to lie and say he had taken her, it would be easy to explain away her maidenhead, perhaps it had broken already during the Long Winter from horseriding, or perhaps Jaime had taken it, Tyrion didn’t know and didn’t care. He wanted her in his bed, just as he had when she was a girl.

He wanted her to want him.

But she never would.

She looked beautiful in the sunlight. Her radiant hair glowed like fire and even her once brother was looking at her admirably, now that her dyed hair was once her natural color again.

Even the High Septon was blushing when Sansa let her smile shine on him.

She was happy. Happy to leave him. Happy to be free of him. 

_Happy._

The High Septon was speaking, “Although this requires no witnesses, I appreciate the royal presence.” _I’m sure you do, just as you appreciate having your head._ The High Septon continued, oblivious to Tyrion’s thoughts. “You do wish for this to be annulled, Lady Sansa? Lord Tyrion?”

“Yes,” Tyrion found himself saying. “Yes, I am ready for this mummery of a marriage to be over with.”

Sansa’s smile was beautiful. _If only..._ “I am ready to be Lady Stark once more.”

The Queen spoke next. “Both the King and I are in favor of this annulment, as well, and it should be remembered that this marriage was never consummated and Lady Sansa was a child and a hostage when she was forcibly married to my Hand.”

 _You were a child hostage forced to marry to a grown man too, my Queen_.

Sansa spoke up then. “Lord Tyrion was also forced to marry me. His father willed it.”

The High Septon flinched at the mention of Tywin Lannister. The Queen had pardoned Tyrion for murdering Tywin, but Tyrion knew the faith did not like it. But the faith had no more claws and could nothing about it. There was no longer a High Sparrow.

Thank the Seven for if there was, Tyrion would have him killed upon the morrow.

“Where is the Lannister cloak?” the High Septon asked.

Tyrion was about to say he did not realize he was supposed to bring it when suddenly Jon Snow handed one to Sansa. “Here it is,” she said. 

“Hand it to Tyrion, with the gentleness of the Mother,” instructed the High Septon and Sansa did, her smile almost kind enough to make Tyrion forget that their marriage was being annulled. He clutched the red and gold cloak tight, the threads under his fingers warm. _If only..._

“And the Stark cloak?” prodded the Queen, whose violet eyes were dark as she stared at Tyrion. _She knew what I was thinking. She knew._

Jon handed that one to Sansa as well, a small smile on his face. She smiled back and Tyrion wondered if they all felt it. If they all saw what he did.

The High Septon harrumphed. “You may place the maiden’s cloak on your shoulders, Lady Sansa, and that will signal the annulment.”

Tyrion watched as Sansa triumphantly wrapped herself in Stark colors and the Stark sigil. _She was to be a lady of ice forever._

“It is done,” Queen Daenerys said, almost sounding bored. “Good, we can speak of other things. Tyrion, a word.”

Sansa Stark and Jon Snow left with the High Septon at their heels. Tyrion could hear the man tell Jon all about the Seven and almost pitied Jon the walk back with the pious sheepherder.

Almost.

“Yes, my Queen?” Tyrion asked, curious.

“Who will you marry now?” she asked him.

“You if I could have you,” he laughed although he truly meant it. _To be the Dragon King..._

“You may not,” she said coolly, although a hint of a smile danced upon her lips. “I shall have my nephew as my husband, you know this.”

Tyrion raised a brow. “Do I?” He glanced at where Sansa and Jon had just stood, ignoring the wind that brushed away his hair. “He will not marry another?”

The hint of a smile grew, although her eyes turned into daggers. “Be careful, Lord Lannister, or I shall have to find a new Hand.”

“Perhaps it should be made of gold, like my dear brother’s.”

“Perhaps,” Daenerys said, looking away. “Or perhaps it shall smell of onions.”

Tyrion could not stop his jaw from dropping. _Lord Davos?_  “Your Grace -”

“Stop,” she ordered, brushing past him, “And follow me, my Lord Hand. Follow me to where I go, and do what I order you to do. Marry a Westerland girl, unite your vassals under you - perhaps marry the girl who was once a Queen, Jeyne Westerling. Make them yours forever.”

“Jeyne Westerling?” Tyrion felt affronted. The Westerlings had intermarried with new lords, the Spicers, who were running the Crag into the ground by the sound of it. Jeyne Westerling was the granddaughter of the reputed Maggy the Frog who was from Essos. They were nothing and Robb Stark died because of his marriage to a Westerling.  Tyrion would not make the same mistake.

Although by the way Daenerys glared down at him, perhaps it would be a worse mistake to refuse. “They may say no, your Grace,” Tyrion said instead. “Although I am now the Lord Paramount of the Westerlands - by your decree, they may be uninterested. I am still a noseless dwarf.”

“And the Hand of the Queen,” she reminded him. “And they shall marry her off to who I say, or else I shall remind them of what happened to all the other perpetrators of the Red Wedding.”

Tyrion bowed then, feeling lost. _I hope the girl is pretty if Robb Stark lost a war for her._ Although who could match Sansa in beauty? “As you wish, your Grace. I shall send a raven.”

“Good,” she said. She never stopped frowning. She was spending too much time with Stannis. “That settles that. I shall have to speak with Sansa about her prospects next, although I suspect she shall be more obstinate than you.”

“You may be correct about that.”

Daenerys shook her head. “It is no matter, she shall do what I wish in the end. It is for the good of the Seven Kingdoms... and for her.” Her voice quieted and the Queen looked almost sad. Did Daenerys pity or envy Sansa Stark? Tyrion didn’t understand.

“She will do whatever it takes to save her family,” was all he was able to say in comfort to his Queen, although a thousand japes and half-truths flew by in his mind. “She loves her family.”

Daenerys looked at him again and almost smiled, her small face framed by the light of spring. “I do hope you are right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was unable to find any information about annulment in the asoiaf universe other than the fact witnesses are not needed, but I included them anyways because Dany is invested in this and Jon is invested in Sansa's happiness.
> 
> SPEAKING OF WHICH....so fair warning, we are heading down the Jon x Sansa route which is why I've added it to the tags. I've been resisting them for a while but I gave up doing that recently and I think it'll make it much easier to write this fic. Because it was naturally heading in that direction without my say-so.  
> (I know I'm the writer, but I'm not in charge. They are. Every time.)
> 
> Anyways, as always let me know what you think.


	7. Jon I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon thinks about his family.

**JON**

* * *

 

The wind kissed his face as he stood out on the balcony, overlooking King’s Landing. The city his ancestors created, the city his grandfather almost burned to the ground.

_He was a Targaryen._

The name was a curse to his Father, his real father, for Rhaegar Targaryen would never be that to Jon. Ned Stark was his father and always would be.

Not that it mattered - both men were dead.

As Jon had once been.

When he closed his eyes at night, he could almost remember the freezing cold, his body stiffening, his soul leaving his body to enter a world unknown to any living creature. He could not remember that - if there was an afterlife the gods did not choose to share it with him, bringing him back to fight undead creatures in the snowy halls of Winterfell.

The undead fighting the undead. What a strange sort of fate.

When Jon awoke his first thought was his family. Arya, Sansa, Rickon, Bran... _Robb_. But although he was no longer a man of the Night’s Watch, death overcoming his vows, he still felt that pull of the fight.

Melisandre was the one who made him stay and fight with Stannis. Stannis attempted to make him a Stark of Winterfell but Jon denied the privilege again, unable to imagine himself there. Not when Sansa was still alive somewhere.

It was her birthright, not his.

He was only a bastard. And unless Sansa told him -- _asked him_ , he would not take it from her.

And that wasn’t changed in his mind. He had no right to be the King of the Seven Kingdoms. But he also knew that it was the only thing keeping the troubled kingdoms in line. For some reason, the Stormlanders and Northerners respected him and the Targaryen name prompted fear in the rest of the land.

Truly, Jon wished for Stannis to be King, but did not know what would become of himself if that happened.

Would he go back to Winterfell - help rebuild the crumbling walls? The broken glass gardens? The sept - accidentally burned to a crisp from Viserion’s breath?

 _My very own dragon_. Jon still could hardly believe it. When Viserion descended from the skies breathing fire, only relinquishing its power when it bowed its head to Jon (indicating that he should climb on) Jon had never been more surprised.

And to fly in the frigid skies - to soar and watch the battles from above, to see the whitewalkers burn as they tried to overrun Winterfell’s defenses (lackluster defenses, they were, after the many armies that attempted to invade the keep -  too many wars befell the ancient castle since Jon had left as a boy) - it was beyond anything that even _Sam_ could imagine.

Sam had almost pissed himself when he saw the dragons, from both fear and awe alike, and Jon could not blame him or call him craven. Only a stupid man wouldn’t fear a dragon. And Harrenhal was what happened to stupid men.

The blood of the Dragon and the blood of the Kneeler ran through Jon’s veins and perhaps that is why the people wanted him to be King. Perhaps it was the fear that the madness would overtake Dany, that it would grip her as much as it gripped her father and her brother Viserys, and possibly even her other brother Rhaegar - for what fit of madness possessed him that made him steal away Lyanna Stark?

Although, others told the tale differently. Howland Reed, the crannogmen, a loyal bannerman to Ned Stark, said that Lyanna left with Rhaegar, but Jon didn’t understand how that could be.

Not even Arya would have ran off with a man - a married man - _a prince_ \- without telling someone the truth. She’d say something to prevent her brothers from threatening a King.

So Jon tried not to think of the matter of his conception, nor on the mother he had longed for so dearly. Although sometimes he could imagine her smile ( _it looked like Lady Catelyn’s_ ) and when he had first been told the tale, he had climbed down to the crypts and stared at his mother’s statue, wondering how he had come to be.

A clamor below his balcony lifted Jon from his melancholy thoughts. Curious, he looked down to see a girl in blue being dragged away by some guards, one who smacked the back of her head.

“Ghost,” Jon called out, bothered by the scene. Ghost hopped off the bed with a lazy stretch, reaching Jon in about two paces due to his large frame. _Perhaps dragons were not the only animals who would never stop growing if given enough room_. Ghost was bigger than even Jon now and possibly as big as the stable-boy Hodor had once been.

Jon felt a stab of pity for the stableboy. They had never found him nor his remains after all had been done and Jon wasn’t sure if Hodor was alive or not. He hadn’t been seen since the Bastard of Bolton took over the castle, or possibly even before that. When Theon betrayed Robb. Jon had a hope that the stable boy was still alive somehow, that he was with Bran, but that was unlikely.

“Ghost,” Jon said again. “Let’s go find out what that’s about.”

Ghost followed Jon out the door. Jon was grateful there were no guards lurking outside his chambers - the temporary dissolution of the Kingsguard was a boon to Jon’s freedom. If he was to stay King he knew that the Kingsguard would have to be put back into place, but Jon couldn’t stand the idea.

For a moment, he imagined Ygritte’s face at the idea of being followed around by a guard, at the immense size of the Red Keep, at the warm breeze -  for even a cool breeze would be warm to a wildling. She would hate it here.

Mayhap more than Sansa did.

When he reached the bottom of the stairwell, Jon was greeted by the sight of the girl in blue being brought to the throne room. The guards were drenched in golden armor ( _were they_ _former Lannister men_ , Jon wondered) but stopped at the sight of him.

“Your Grace!” the tallest one exclaimed, “We were about to bring this woman to you.”

“I think you mean to the Queen,” Jon responded, “I’m not in the throne room.”

The soldier blinked. “Ah yes, one of you.” The other guards snickered. Jon smiled at them, to show that he bore no ill will, and looked at their prisoner.

She was a Northerner, that much was assured, dark hair, long face, pretty grey eyes that were wide at the sight of Ghost.

“He won’t hurt you,” Jon said. “Not unless you mean to hurt me.”

For a moment, Jon thought the girl was about to cry, but instead her face turned hard. “I could hurt you without any of you blinking,” she boasted, causing Ghost to growl, although it wasn’t menacing. “But I won’t.”

Her voice was familiar, but Jon shut down the curious thought before he had time to consider it. “What is her charge?” he asked the men.

The guards looked at one another, obviously dismayed, “She attempted to take away the Kin- Queen’s justice.”

“And what does that mean?”

A younger guard answered that. “Why, ser, she was found in the dungeons, we think she was looking for the Queen - not the Targaryen Queen, not Queen Daenerys, your Grace, but -“

“Cersei,” Jon finished for him, tired of all the Queens and Kings of Westeros. “Take her to the throne room then. We’re hearing petitions today, perhaps the girl can explain what she was doing there.”

The girl was silent and Jon followed the crowd of guards into the throne room, watching as the girl’s bare feet hit the stone floors. She flinched upon entering the room, but Jon couldn’t understand why. Leaving them, he went to the front, bowing his head to his aunt.

Daenerys Targaryen looked beautiful, her form still on the Iron Throne to prevent herself from being cut. Jon thought she should just melt the thing but knew better than to suggest that to a Targaryen. Still, the whole throne was a waste in his mind, and a very uncomfortable seat. He always chose to sit on the steps beside the throne, allowing his aunt to take her place on it instead. Jon did so now, feeling the press of eyes following his figure. _Let them think what they want, my arse is never going to be on that glorified piece of steel._

“What is this?” the Queen, his beautiful aunt, asked as he sat down, “Who do you bring to me?”

“We found her in the dungeons, she was looking for the Que-- for Cersei Lannister, your Grace,” the young guard stumbled, turning redder than Sansa’s hair.

Sansa wasn’t in the room, Jon noticed, but did not blame his sister for her absence. The throneroom held terrible memories for her and he knew that she’d rather be anywhere but the Red Keep. He hoped to send her back home to Winterfell soon, but politics were interfering in his wish. She deserved happiness, his sister -- cousin, he had to keep reminding himself that they were cousins now... not siblings any longer.

She was not his sister.

He was not a Stark.

“Why were you looking for the lioness?” Dany asked the girl, peering at her curiously. “Were you attempting to free her?”

The girl smiled. “Only from her body.”

Jon stared at the girl. _Seven hells, who was she?_

Dany asked his thought. “Who are you?”

“No one.”

Davos, Stannis’ Onion Knight, came from the crowd, bowing to Jon and Dany, his posture slumped yet severe. “Excuse me, your Graces, but she... she looks northern to me.”

“She is definitely northern,” Jon interrupted, wary of where this inquiry was going. “But I do not know her.”

The girl stared at him hard before looking away. She almost looked hurt, Jon realized and so he spoke before his aunt could. “But should I know you?”

“I’m no one,” the girl repeated, stubborn.

“She was carrying this,” one of the soldiers said, holding out a trim, little sword that looked much too small for the girl, despite her short stature. She looked at with longing. “I think she meant to kill the Lannister woman with it.”

“May I see it?” Jon asked. The soldier hesitated but with a nod from Dany, headed to him, trying not to look at Ghost, who was curled around Jon’s feet.

“Your Grace,” the soldier said with a bow. Up close, Jon could see the fair Andal coloring the boy had, and surmised that he was right - that these were former Lannister men. _What were former Lannister men doing in the dungeon?_ Tyrion and Jaime would have to be called into questioning, but that could wait because Jon suddenly could not look anywhere but at the weapon he was given.

The sword took his breath away.

It had Mikken’s mark on it — it was the sword he had made for his little sister.

For Arya.

It was Needle.

He got up from his seat with a jump, alarming the crowd and the Queen.

“Jon?” Dany asked, obviously worried enough to dispense with formalities in front of the court. “What is it?”

“Arya?” he asked the girl. How did he not see it? The girl looked like his sister grown. Had his memories been so destroyed from his rebirth? Sansa had looked almost the same, but Arya’s whole face had changed, becoming almost as sharp and beautiful as Needle.

The girl who was Arya stared at him, obviously angry that he did not recognize her, but he didn’t care, she could be angry about that the rest of their lives.

But she was alive.

“Arya?” he said again. “Please, Arya.”

“Why didn’t you kill her?” she only asked, in a voice made for shouting. “She hurt our father, she killed him! And you just let her sit in a dungeon!”

“Joffrey killed our father,” he said, trying to soothe her temper.

Arya kicked him.

Gasps were sprinkled throughout the crowd of nobles that lined themselves in to watch the theatrics. The guards drew their swords at Arya, but Jon held his hand up. “No, leave her be, that was deserved. I promise you, Arya, Cersei will have the Queen’s justice.”

“No!” she barked out, looking more like a wild direwolf than a young girl. “She has to have my justice!”

“Cersei did not only hurt you. Come, Arya, please let’s talk in private — “

Arya looked around, as if fully aware where they were now and jerked her head. “Fine.”

“Jon.”

He looked back to see the Queen. “You may use the small council chambers,” she said, her eyes kind. “I will be there momentarily.”

 _Thank you_ , he wanted to say, but instead only nodded. It wouldn’t be good to show more emotion than he already had in front of the court.

He took Arya’s arm and gently led her out. The guard that found her followed them which annoyed Jon, but he wasn’t sure what to do about it. Snapping at the Lannister men would do nothing but piss off Tyrion.

Thinking of Tyrion reminded Jon of Sansa. _She must know_ , he thought, holding onto Arya’s arm, guiding her to the small council chambers, ignoring the gaping gazes of the courtiers they passed by, _she must know now._

Diverting from the path to the chambers, he pulled Arya aside in a dark corner. “I think we should see Sansa first,” he said.

Arya blinked. “She’s here?” Her voice was small. “She’s alive?”

Jon embraced Arya, “She’s alive, she’s alive and free.”

Arya hugged him back and when they let go of one another, his shirt was wet. He smiled at Arya, who hid her tears, “Let us find her then.”

Arya agreed, although she looked frightened, something Jon could never remember seeing on her face. He was unsure of what words he could say to console her and hoped that Sansa would know what to say.

They avoided any guards they saw as well as anyone who could be one of Varys’ little birds. There was a close call with a maid who stared at them. It was only when Jon realized she was blushing that he realized why she was staring.

He nodded at her and she giggled and ran off. Arya said nothing about it, which surprised him. When she was younger she would have teased and laughed.

_What has she gone through?_

Jon reached Sansa’s door and immediately knocked. “It’s Jon,” he said.

Sansa opened almost as soon as he stopped speaking. Her hair was half-done and her dress was half-buttoned. He almost wanted to cover her up, but pressed his gaze elsewhere. “What’s wrong?” she asked, her Tully eyes staring into his own.

“Is your maid here?” he asked.

“I have no maid,” Sansa said. “I released the other one from my service days ago, she was spying for someone, I couldn’t say who, but she was not subtle. Who is this?” she asked, suddenly noticing that Arya was hiding behind Jon.

“Let us in?” he asked and she opened the door. 

Sansa's chambers were empty of any personal belongings. It was sparser than Jon's own rooms, which felt wrong to Jon. Sansa should have what she wanted in her home.

But, he supposed, this was not her home. 

“Arya!” Sansa exclaimed when she saw Arya’s face. She knew her sister immediately, while Jon did not. He wondered if he should feel guilty or jealous, but was too overjoyed at Sansa's smile to think of petty things.“Arya, you’re alive!”

The two girls stared at each other for so long after Sansa spoke that Jon almost felt as if he was the intruder. As if he wasn’t a Stark.

 _You’re not a Stark,_ he reminded himself _. You’re a_ ** _Targaryen._ **

The name felt bloody in his mouth. 

“Sansa,” was all Arya said and then she erupted in tears. Sansa went two steps forward and swept her sister up in her arms. Arya's head rested on Sansa's shoulder as she wept and, for a moment, it looked as if Sansa was taking care of her weeping child.

Jon tentatively took a step forward, wishing to help somehow. Sansa must’ve heard him, for she looked up and laughed, despite her blue eyes swelling with tears. He hugged them both then, grateful to have them living and breathing when he thought they all were dead for so long. It was hard to believe they were here.

Sansa pulled away first. “What do you know?” she asked Arya, straight to the point. “Do you know that Jon is not our brother?”

“I know,” Arya said, defensive. “I heard.”

“I’m your Aunt Lyanna’s son,” Jon said. “I’m a Targaryen.”

“I know,” she said again, although it was quiet. “It’s why you’re the King.”

Sansa caught Jon’s eye. She knew how he felt about his title. She knew how he felt about all of it because she felt the same as him.

They wanted to leave.

But they couldn’t. _Not yet._

“We must see to Queen Daenerys in the small council chambers,” Jon said. “I just wanted you with us, Sansa. I wanted you to see each other again before the game of thrones is played.”

She nodded. “Thank you, I-- I couldn’t take another reunion in that room.”

“Will Cersei get her justice?” Arya asked.

For a moment, Jon had forgotten why Arya had snuck into the Red Keep in the first place. “Soon,” he promised her. “Within the week is what has been promised.”

“I want to speak,” Arya said.

“As do I,” Sansa said. “We shall come up with our statements together.”

Jon almost felt sorry for Cersei Lannister, but then he remembered how Arya flinched as she entered the throne room and how Sansa’s smile seemed forced everywhere outside their private discussions. And even then sometimes her smile seemed more like a shield than an answer.

“She will die,” Jon  said, feeling almost assured of this. “I cannot imagine how she would escape death.”

“Death is her friend,” Sansa said. “She has caused so much of it, why would it take her away.”

Arya shook her head. _“Valar morghulis.”_

 _“Valar dohaeris,”_ Jon said reflexively. All the High Valyrian tutoring Sam was making him go through was paying off, it seemed, based on the bewildered expressions on his cousins’ faces. He smiled at them. “Let us go and see our Queen.”


	8. Brienne I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne has an audience with the Queen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think the Jaime and Brienne fans will be very happy with this chapter. :)

**BRIENNE**

* * *

 

Brienne dreamed.

She dreamed of the sea with it swirling depths that hid merlings and creatures that she could not name. She dreamed of the grey skies that outlined Tarth’s coast, how the winds howled and changed the clouds within moments. The gale pulled at her air and she could hear her father’s words, dancing through the air. “ _Serve our King_ ,” he told her, his face stern and kind.

The dream changed as quick as the currents in the Narrow Sea, suddenly there was a warrior, no, a madman at her throat, ready to bite -

She drove the sword fast into the man’s scalp and heard the cries behind her. She looked and saw _him._

" _Wench, wench!_ ” Ser Jaime cried, the Kingslayer, the hidden savior of King’s Landing.“ _Why do you forsake me?_ ”

She was unable to answer for another voice shouted. " _Kingslayer's whore,_ " a man with a flaming face shouted, diving in front of her. He smashed her head with the blunt end of his axe and suddenly her sword turned into dust.

The man grinned and he turned into Renly, striking her repeatedly with the axe. It didn’t hurt, it is a dream, she whispered to herself, but still red, awful, sticky blood poured down her face. _“Jaime,”_ she cried out, wiping the blood off her face, “ _Jaime_ \--”

“What is it, wench?” he asked her, his voice softer than a whispering caress and it was only then that Brienne awoke.

She was in her own rooms but he was there, leaning on the wall, his face stonier than any keep. He did not rush to her as he might have to a prettier woman, he looked at her as he looked at a man. But what man would call out Ser Jaime’s name in his sleep?

She could not muster the will to blush. “I dreamt of Stoneheart’s men,” she told him, looking down at her hands. They were chapped and full of scars. A wildling man had attacked Jaime during the winter, angry about something stupid, something she couldn’t even remember, and she had stopped it the only way she could have at the time. Her sword had not been at her side as it ought so her hands had to suffice. Jaime had been more furious with her than he was with the wildling. _Stupid wench,_ he had said, _why do you do this to me?_

Was it sinful to wish the rumors were true? Was it sinful to wish he was her protector? (Was it sinful for her to wish she was _his_?)

At the mention of Stoneheart Jaime frowned, ignorant of her wicked thoughts. “The witch and her men are dead. Podrick saw to that.”

Brienne flushed then. She should have been the one to protect them, not her poor squire. “I meant before then. I meant when I had brought you... when I had betrayed you.”

Jaime waved a hand as if it matter nothing. As if she spoke of stealing a treat from the kitchens instead of ending his life. “We survived.”

“But we all almost died.” _You almost died. Podrick almost died. And Hyle..._

_But most important of all, Sansa almost wasn’t found._

He moved to sit beside her now, on her tiny bed. She could see his jaw tighten and yearned to touch him, to comfort him. But she did nothing. “Arya Stark has been found.”

“What?” Brienne’s head swarmed with thoughts of the Lady Catelyn. “Is she alive?”

“Yes,” he said and she couldn’t help smiling. Until she saw that he wasn’t. “What is the matter?”

“She was found in the dungeons looking for Cersei. To kill her, I suppose,” he said, much too casually. “Lannister men were already there and stopped the wolfling from doing any harm. They didn’t realize who she was at first, not even her dear cousin recognized the wolfling when he first set eyes on her.”

“Have you seen her?” she asked.

Jaime’s jaw twitched. “From afar. She looks like a Stark. One covered in grime but every Stark has the look of superior nobleness in their eyes.”

Brienne frowned at him and opened her mouth to lecture before he laughed. “Much like the look in your own eyes. It’s that noble look, something I do not possess.”

“Do not jape. Was your sister harmed?”

His laugh turned sour. “Not yet. But I’m sure the wolfling will not be satisfied until she’s been burned to her bones. And if my sweet sister is not killed soon, I believe that she will have as mysterious a death as Maegor the Cruel.”

Silence rested between them then and Brienne misliked it. Their conversations had more silence now than they had even when she betrayed him. She didn’t understand why that was and it frustrated her. She wanted to speak that way she once did to him and the way he once spoke to her even if his words were cruel and full of mistaken japes.

“Why were Lannister men there?” she forced herself to ask, trying not to look at Jaime’s face.

Jaime shook his head, his golden hair flying in front of his face. “I am unsure,” he admitted. “I cannot see why Tyrion would order our soldiers to protect our sister. Or to rescue her. He despises her.”

“And you didn’t?”

Jaime pushed himself off her bed and Brienne could see that she offended him. Removing her sheet, she moved to follow him off the bed but he shook his head. “I would tell you if I was planning on saving her, Brienne,” he said. “Because it would endanger you. It would endanger all of us. Even Lady Sansa has spent too many weeks with the Kingslayer and his Whore not to be considered a threat by Aerys’ daughter!”

The room was too dark to see Jaime’s expression but she imagined it was angry. “I apologize, ser.”

“For the love of the gods, Brienne,” he said, burying his head in his hands, pacing the room. “Stop apologizing. We need to find out who sent the guards to Cersei.”

“Could Cersei have sent for them?”

“How? By sending a rat to them? Writing a message and tying it on its tail? You are not stupid, Brienne.”

She stood up, wishing the shift she wore reached past past her knees. But Jaime stared into her eyes. _He would never stare at my legs._ “Aren’t there secret passageways that Lord Varys knows about? You told me that was how he and you rescued Tyrion.”

“But why would the spider assist my sister?”

“Maybe he wasn’t trying to.” None of this made sense to Brienne but she tried to sort out the muddle of thoughts that plagued her. “Perhaps he was trying to make it seem like you were.”

Jaime stared at her. “Out of the mouth of wenches.”

Brienne scowled.

Jaime only laughed, a true one, a pleased one. “I’ll send Addam to find out the truth of this.”

“Will he be able to?” Addam seemed more a soldier than a spy. “Shouldn’t we enlist your brother?” Tyrion was called the Imp for good reason, Brienne assumed.

Jaime’s smile dimmed. “For all I know, Brienne, he was the one who sent the men there. ”

“You think that poorly of your brother?” she asked. “You think he would do this to you?”

“I’ve done worse to him,” Jaime said. “And do not ask me what I did,” he added when he saw her open her mouth. “You have been my confessor much too often for comfort. One day I shall have to be yours, wench.”

She stared at him, unamused. “I mislike this, ser.”

He rolled his eyes, “Get dressed, my lady. We are to speak with the Queen within the hour.”

“You tell me this now?” Worry rose through Brienne like a rushing gale. “I am not fit to see her.”

Jaime’s gaze was almost leery. “Despair not, young maiden.” She scowled at him but he paid her no mind. “I sent for a reputable maid to help you look respectable.”

 _A maid? One who will laugh at me?_ “Jaime, I can dress myself.”

He only shook his head, looking almost amused, but didn’t attempt to argue. Instead, he opened the door and there stood the maid, a girl with dark locks who looked younger than Sansa. “I shall leave you, wench,” Jaime said, nodding at the maid who blushed at his gaze. He left the room swiftly, his footsteps down the hall echoing farther and farther away.

The maid smiled at Brienne, in the frightened way every small woman did. “Lord Lannister told me to bring you this.” A dress lay in her outstretched hands. A blue one, with small sapphires embedded in the collar.

 _Must he torment me with sapphires?_ “I’d prefer it if my squire was here helping me with my armor.”

“But your squire is not here,” the maid gently reminded her, her tepid smile ebbing away. “And I do not know how to help you with armor.”

“I can do it myself.”

“I believe you can but the Queen would not like it.”

 _A strange thing for a maid to know_ , Brienne thought. Although, perhaps it wasn’t. Brienne had little interaction with maids since the last time she stayed at the Red Keep, when she was imprisoned wrongfully in a tower for her own protection. “I do not believe the dress will fit me.”

“Ser Jaime sent your measurements to the tailor, you did not know?”

Was he trying to ruin the vestiges of her reputation?

Did it matter if he were? She had little reputation left.  “I did not,” Brienne responded. “What is your name?”

“Cassana.”

“I- I appreciate your help with the dress, Cassana.”

Cassana smiled wide enough for Brienne to see her teeth, even in the dark room. “I will  light some candles so I can get you ready for Queen Daenerys.”

Could anything prepare Brienne for the Dragon Queen? She barely made it through the last meeting. And now with the Lannister guardsmen prowling the dungeons...

She was afraid for Jaime.

* * *

Brienne fingered the ends of her sleeves. The dress was beautiful, that was true, but she also knew it did not make her beautiful. The dress possessed a high neck, hiding her rope marks yet that only made the scars on her face more prominent.

Jaime would never say so, not now, not like he once would have. However, that did not stop him from watching her when he thought she couldn’t see, his golden eyelashes fluttering in worry.

She almost reached for his left hand but then remembered where they were, remembered that they were not lovers, no matter what the singers sang. “The maid you sent was very capable,” Brienne said instead. “Thank you.”

She did not dare to look at him, already annoyed at the laughter she knew was in his face, and so was surprised by his cautious tone. “You are welcome, my lady,” he said. “You look lovely.”

Startled, Brienne _did_ dare to glance at him now, wildly confused. “What?”

He had looked away from her and so she was unable to find the lie in his eyes. “What?” she asked again, not meaning to do so.

The door opened before Brienne could hear Jaime’s answer. Lord Varys was on the other side of it, his smile devilish. “My lord and my lady,” he greeted, bowing his head. She could feel the mocking tone of it immediately and flushed. “Would you come in?”

“I thought this was a private meeting,” Jaime said whilst brushing past the Spider. Brienne followed, managing to greet the Queen’s spymaster with only a few words. She was hoping that it was enough to spare Jaime any injury, but she couldn’t tell. Lord Varys’ smile was strange and peculiar yet it always seemed to be strange and peculiar.

“It is,” the Queen said. She sat on a golden seat at the end of a long table. Beyond her was an open window with red curtains and Brienne could hear the rushing of the waves below. “It is just I, Ser Jorah, and Lord Varys.” Ser Jorah stood by the Queen’s side, glaring down at Jaime.

“What do you wish to speak with us about, your Grace?” Brienne asked before Jaime could say something stupid.

Lord Varys tutted as he sat next to the Queen. “You surely know what our lovely Queen wishes to say to you, Lady Brienne,” he said, his voice only slightly louder than a whisper. Brienne could barely hear it.

Brienne swallowed and looked to Jaime. He ignored her gaze, choosing to speak instead. “We have heard the rumors that Arya Stark lives in this very keep, is that true? If so my debt to Catelyn Stark is hopefully completed.”

The Queen’s eyes were solemn. “That is not what Lord Varys asked. Lady Brienne, please speak. Do you know why you are here?”

“I do not,” Brienne said, unable to ignore a direct command from her Queen. “I suspect I know why you have asked for Jaime but not why you have asked me.”

The Queen’s smile was as strange as her spider’s. “I see.” She turned to Lord Jorah, “See how she speaks with honesty?”

His face was disgruntled. “Yes, Khaleesi.”

The Queen faced Brienne and Jaime once again. “Sit,” she ordered them and they obeyed. Brienne pulled out a seat for Jaime before she could stop herself, knowing it was difficult for him with his solitary hand.

He was wearing his ugly golden one on his stump now and Brienne saw the Queen’s violet eyes rove over it before landing on Brienne’s face. “Lady Brienne,” she said, “we shall discuss the reason for your presence soon, but for now I must speak to the Kin- Ser Jaime.”

Jaime’s smile was stiff. “What do you need from me, your Grace?”

“I need the truth,” Queen Daenerys said. “Why were Lannister men in the dungeons?”

“I am not the Lord of the Westerlands, that duty belongs to my brother, so why is he not here with me?”

Lord Jorah grumbled, “He should be.”

Queen Daenerys glared at the marked man, while Lord Varys tittered. “That is enough, Ser Jorah,” she said.

“Yes, your Grace.”

The queen’s jaw twitched. “I asked you the question, Ser Jaime. Do not force my hand.”

“I do not know why they were there. That is why I suggested asking my dear brother, your Grace,” Jaime said. Brienne itched to kick him - he was acting so unwise speaking as such to a queen. Had he no sense?

“Do you know, Lady Brienne?” the Queen asked. “You cannot lie to your Queen.”

Brienne flushed. “I would never lie. I swore an oath.”

“We have seen what Lady Brienne’s oaths beget,” Lord Varys said.

Jaime stood up before Brienne could stop him. “Lady Brienne has more honor in her wretched toe than you lot have in your entire bodies,” he growled, glaring at Lord Varys and Ser Jorah. “It is a frustratingly annoying trait of hers, but it will serve you well, your Grace,” he said, directing this at the Queen.

The Queen gazed back and for a moment Brienne worried the Queen was going to reach across the table and slap Jaime for his impertinence. But she did no such thing, instead she smiled in amusement. Brienne could almost see a delighted young girl in that smile. “Lady Brienne,” Queen Daenerys said again, hiding her smile with a feigned cough, “do you know why there were Lannister men?”

“No, my Queen... I do not know. I wish I did. I wish I could help you. But I cannot.”

Jaime sat down, resting his elbows on the table. “Are you satisfied with us?”

“I am with you,” the Queen said. “But not with Lady Brienne. There is another matter,” she added quickly when Jaime opened his mouth to protest, “another matter that I must speak with Brienne about.”

“What is that?” Brienne asked before Jaime could speak for her.

“Tarth.”

Brienne swallowed. “Didn’t Aegon’s armies destroy my home?”

The Queen glowered. “He did, but you must rebuild it.”

Could she go home? “I have a duty to Lady Sansa...”

“I have spoken to her. You are going to Tarth.”

“When?” Brienne’s head swarmed. “What will I do there?”

“You will find survivors, for there are many, according to Varys’ birds. You will fix your castle, plant seeds, curry favor with the new lord of the Stormlands,” Brienne blanched but the Queen continued, ignoring her look, “and, of course, marry and have heirs.”

“I cannot serve Lord Stannis,” Brienne said. She could feel everyone’s eyes on her and suddenly realized she had stood. “I cannot,” she said again. “He is a kinslayer. I would serve his daughter, but I will never serve him.”

“You have no choice,” Queen Daenerys said, her voice rising. “He is your liege lord.”

“Then I must give up Tarth.”

“Brienne,” Jaime said, standing up, “wait.”

The Queen glowered. “I will give you time to think this over, Lady Brienne. But know if you give up Tarth, you will not be a free maiden. You will be considered a criminal. The murderer of Renly Baratheon.”

Jaime swore. “You all know Stannis did that! Why do you pretend otherwise? Even Loras knows it, her first accuser!”

Brienne blinked. “I understand, my Queen. I will think over the consequences.”

“I will give you one moon.”

Lord Jorah stared at Queen Daenerys. “Khaleesi,” he warned, but she paid him no mind.

“One moon and you cannot leave the Red Keep in that time.”

Brienne bowed, “I swear I will not leave.”

“Good,” the Queen said, “now go. I have much to think about.”

Jaime accosted Brienne the moment they were alone in a darkened hall. “What were you thinking?” he said. “She is Aerys’ daughter! She could have killed you for such impertinence.”

Jaime didn’t understand. “I cannot serve Stannis,” she said, “I cannot.”

“You mean you will not, you stubborn girl.” Jaime sighed and pushed his hair out of his face. She could see his disappointment and worry better now and it made her feel younger than she was. As if she was still a girl of ten, listening to songs of heroes. “I cannot lose you because of Stannis. And what if the Queen chooses to marry him?”

“What?” Brienne was startled. “She is to marry her nephew.”

“There are rumors to the contrary. You must start listening,” Jaime lectured. “Stannis may be your King soon enough, what will you do then?”

 _Weep for Renly._ “I do not know.”

“If you hide under Sansa’s skirts in Winterfell you’ll only be jeopardizing the peace we have regained. You must learn to submit sometime, Brienne.”

“Why would she marry Stannis?”

Jaime shook his head. “He’s her heir. It makes the transition of power easier. Less fighting after she, or he, passes on.”

Brienne wasn’t sure if that would be true, but said nothing. Jaime shook his head again and muttered about her stubbornness, but then kept walking back to his rooms. She followed him, not wishing to be alone.

“Who will you marry if you take Tarth?” he surprised her by asking.

“Um.” She blinked. “I do not know. Who would have me?”

“You will need someone strong,” he said, “strong enough to help you rebuild.”

“I suppose,” Brienne said, thinking about her home. “I wish Ser Goodwin lived.”

Jaime’s voice was sharp. “Who is Ser Goodwin?”

“My old master-at-arms. He died years before. He would have known what to do.”

“Ah,” Jaime said. “Well, I will know what to do.”

Brienne shook her head as they reached his door. “Sansa will need you more than I will.”

Jaime unlocked his door and let her into the dim, tiny room, closing the door behind him. There were only a few candles still lit. The darkness reminded Brienne of the winter and she shuddered. “Do you not want me on Tarth?” he asked.

 _How had he misunderstood her so?_ Brienne was aghast. “No, that is not it. I know Winterfell needs even more rebuilding than Tarth. Sansa has a kingdom, I have an island.”

“She will have her sister and her cousin. Who do you have?”

“I can do it on my own.”

“Without a husband?” Jaime asked. Shadows danced across his face, the flickering candlelight making him look eerier as he grew closer.

Much too close. Brienne blushed. “If I must.”

He stopped suddenly, his hand touching her marred cheek. Brienne didn’t know what to do, if she should draw back or lean in, so she stood there, afraid and warm from his touch. “Brienne,” he said. “What will you do if the Queen picks you a husband.”

Brienne swallowed. “I will do as she orders.”

“She has no right to do that,” Jaime said. “Not when you have been promised to another.”

“I have?” Brienne asked, confused. Jaime’s left thumb was sliding over her cheek now and she found it terribly hard to think. “Who?”

“Me,” Jaime said.

Brienne shook herself away from him. “What?” she asked, aghast. “What are you saying?”

For a moment, as the candlelight danced, Jaime looked hurt, but it was gone before Brienne could confirm, a cocky smile present instead. “I am saying I am not a knight of the Kingsguard any longer, and you’ll need a husband to protect you.”

“I do not.”

“Well, to protect you from other potential husbands then.”

Brienne glowered. “Jaime,” she warned. “What is the true reason? You cannot suggest this idea without reason! And Sansa will still need your help.”

“No, she won’t,” he argued, his eyes as sharp as emeralds. “You will need my help. You needed my help today! Without my warning, the Queen would have struck you where you stood." Jaime smiled. “We are a good team, are we not?”

Brienne looked away, unable to look at his smile for long.

“Brienne, think on it. It makes sense. Do you want her to marry you to Ser Jorah?”

Brienne faced Jaime, horrified. “What?”

“Did you not realize that is why he was there? Come now, Brienne, you did not notice how the Queen tried to place you in a positive light to the man?”

“How do you know all of this?” she asked him.

“Varys is not the only one with little birds.”

Brienne rolled her eyes and tried not to snort. “I will not marry a man who sells others into slavery.”

“And what if the Queen attempts to order you?”

“She can’t.”

“She will.”

“And how will you marrying me stop this? Doesn’t she need to bless our union?”

“She would bless it. She will not stop it from happening. This plan of hers with Ser Jorah is only that. A plan.”

Brienne shook her head, feeling near tears. “I cannot do this.”

“You can,” Jaime said, crouching down beside her. It was only then that Brienne realized she was sitting on the hard stone floor. _When did I sit down?_ “You must.”

“I cannot serve Stannis and I... I cannot marry. I do not wish to die in a birthing bed.”

Jaime laughed. “Have you seen yourself? You will not die in a bed.”

She couldn’t laugh with him. “I am afraid.”

“You’re afraid of this? You weren’t afraid of White Walkers or the Vale mountain clans.”

“I have to do my duty,” she said, “but I cannot do it.”

“You must face it,” Jaime said. “And I want to face it with you.” He placed his hand on her knee. “Let me face it with you, Brienne.”

“If you marry me, Jaime, you will --”

“Be happy.” His voice was stilted. "I would not marry anyone but you."

 _But your sister_ , Brienne wanted to say, thinking of Cersei locked away in a terrible cell beneath them. Yet Brienne said nothing, knowing Jaime would only protest and become angry if she did. 

“Do you agree to be my wife?” he asked, almost as if he loved her. 

She wished he did.

“No,” Brienne answered, although she placed her hand over his, enjoying his touch too much to give it up. “I must think on it longer.”


	9. Arianne I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look into the heart of Dorne.

**ARIANNE**

* * *

“They are hiding Aegon,” her father said in the evening, after a night of wine and revelry. There were dancers in the hall, elegantly showcasing their long limbs and dangerous smiles. Arianne sat with her father, the Lord Paramount of Dorne. The Princess Myrcella was not far from their table, her smile wide as she laughed at one of Obara’s japes. The Lannister girl looked like the sun, but Trystane looked at Myrcella as if she was the moon and stars instead.

“The Tyrells?” replied Arianne, unsurprised. “They took him prisoner, you mean.”

Her father sipped his wine. When he finished, his lips were stained with red. _Blood_ _red_ , Arianne thought. “The Queen thinks he is dead.”

“Is she truly _our_ Queen?” Arianne asked, trying to keep her voice low. It would be dangerous if others heard them. A potential threat to the unsteady throne was not something that could be taken lightly. If the Queen knew of the truth, heads would be rolling and then spiked on the top of the Red Keep in a matter of moments.

Her father’s smile was thin. “She is according to right of conquest and law.” He didn’t sound as if he believed it. But did he believe in anything after Quentyn’s death? The rights of men mattered little when all of your rights had been trampled over and over again by the brutality of men. “But if Aegon is truly _our_ Aegon, then he should be ruling. He is Rhaegar’s rightful son.”

“I agree.” _Why should Rhaegar’s bastard and sister rule when his son and rightful heir still lived? Why should the Queen, my brother’s murderer, live and rule them all?_ “Who told you of Aegon?” _Who knows the truth of my cousin, the man you once wished me to wed?_

Her father’s breath could be seen in the smoky room where they sat watching the children laugh. The fires had grown, winter had finally reached Dorne, although Arianne knew it would disappear just as quickly as it came. Spring was coming  for the Northern kingdoms and it would soon come for them. She watched her father, his inky black eyes lighting up at the sound of Myrcella’s laughter. She knew he wished for peace. She knew he wished to fight no longer.

But if Aegon lived, they must fight. _For Elia. For Quentyn._

_For my throne._

“Even if we cannot ascend Aegon to the throne,” Arianne said, “he should still be in our custody. He is our kin.” _He is our King._

“The Tyrells would never let him leave their sight,” her father replied. Areo stood behind Prince Doran, the bodyguard’s face dark and placid. She wondered what he thought of their plans, all of them, if he allowed himself to think of any of them. He would never say if he misliked them even if he thought they were terrible.

 _He killed Arys_ , she reminded herself, although quickly she remembered the truth. _That was your fault for reaching too far_ , she thought, thinking of sweet Myrcella’s fallen ear. _Your own fault._

She shook off these thoughts and said to her father, “Unless we give the Tyrells something in return.”

“The mountains are ours.”

Arianne bristled. _Does he think me daft?_ “I do not speak of our mountains.”

Doran looked away from the people below his table on the dais back to Arianne. “Then what do you mean, daughter?”

“Give them the Stark girl.”

Doran blinked. “We do not have Sansa Stark and I do not wish to start a war by repeating Rhaegar’s mistakes.”

Her father always thought the worst of her. “We do not need to whisk her away, Father. She will only need convincing. And they have wanted her from the beginning,” Arianne remembered. “They wished to marry her to their crippled heir.” _Willas. Sometimes I still long for him, but... those were a child’s wishes._

“She is the Lady Paramount of the North and still married to Tyrion Lannister to my knowledge.”

“You know that is untrue.” Arianne sighed. Her father’s memory was failing him oftener than she liked. Soon he would be too infirm to rule and she would have to do so in his stead. “Tyene and Nymeria sent us letters that said the Queen has allowed an annulment between the two.” Tyene was one of the new High Septon’s favorite septas while Nymeria sat in on court. Nymeria hoped to be allowed back into the Small Council once the Queen truly established it. It was currently a cluster of the worst group of men and women Arianne could imagine filled with slavers and red witches and imps and _Stannis_. “If Nymeria becomes friendly with Sansa, as she easily could, she could convince the Stark girl of the importance -”

“Perhaps Garlan would be a better match for the girl, being nearer her age,” her father interrupted. “Or our own Trystane.”

Arianne instinctively looked at her only living brother and pitied him. The boy smiled as if he was still betrothed to the woman he loved despite knowing he wasn’t any longer. Arianne wondered when the Queen would ask that Myrcella to be sent to the septas. Arianne would not fight for Myrcella, their golden princess, if it came to that.

There were bigger battles ahead. “Trystane will not marry Sansa,” she said, knowing the truth. “He will only have one paramour - and he will take no wife.  And that is not what we want. We want to align with the Tyrells, yes, Father, we must!” she added once she saw her father frown. He still hated them. _Foolish Father._ “We must align with them if we want Aegon back, alive and well - ruling as our King,” Arianne finished.

“If he’s still truly alive,” her father frowned.

Arianne steeled herself. “Then I will go to Highgarden and discover the truth.”

He nodded as if he expected this. “You have done similar tasks before. But I warn you, daughter, do not be taken in by the Tyrells. Do not trust them.”

 _He is thinking of me as a child again!_ “I will find the truth, Father,” she said, her tone biting. Areo flinched although her father did not. Arianne hoped no one else heard her.

Her father only shook his head, his eyes tired. “You are young, Arianne. Do not forget this.”

 _The Targaryen Queen is younger. And the Stark girl younger still._ She said nothing to her father though, enjoying the view of the table instead. So much laughter and singing -- as if the winter had already left them forever.

The sight haunted her ( _Quentyn should be here_ ) and so she quickly abandoned her seat by her father, too tired to argue with him any longer. Too tired of the plots that must be finished. _I will be Queen,_ she thought over and over in order to comfort herself as she climbed up the steps to her rooms, but the thought truly brought little comfort. 

_What will happen to the dragons?_

She stopped herself in surprise. The dragons were something none of them ever thought about, despite Quentyn dying by their flame. _What would the dragons do if we succeed in our plot?_ Were they loyal only to their mother or had the Imp and the Bastard won their hearts? _I must write to my cousins and ask. For if they will fall behind the Imp and the Bastard, then we must win them over._ The Bastard already doesn’t want to rule and the Imp is an imp and a Lannister, he’ll switch sides to suit his own fancy. It would work. 

It had to.

Arianne found a servant waiting for her by the door. It was a peakish looking child, with soft, snowy hair. The child seemed almost genderless although if Arianne had to guess, she’d guess it was a boy.

“My lady,” the child greeted, “Lord Varys has sent a letter.”

“Why?” Arianne asked, suddenly suspicious of the beautiful youth before her. “What does he want?”

“I don’t know.”

Arianne almost snorted. “Give the letter to me.”

The child handed the letter eagerly as if it was burning their hand. “Go,” Arianne told the child, before entering her chambers and locking the door behind her. She suspected the child was told to spy on her - why else would Lord Varys send a child instead of a raven? A letter was a simple task. Spying was not.

She opened the letter, curious as to what its contents were, and was not disappointed. King Jon was not to be King for much longer and it was suspected that the Queen herself was arranging a match for him. And Lord Varys' plan to set up Jaime Lannister to fall was working well although the Queen seemed to believe, so far, that the golden lion had naught to do with it.

_Silly girl, falling for golden looks._

Arianne still didn’t fully trust Lord Varys, despite their working together for nearly a year. She suspected he’d sell her out in a moment if it advanced his own plans. But, she would do the same to him, so she supposed it was fair.

There was little else to the letter other than the note that the court date for Queen Cersei’s trial was pushed back once again.

That would not please anyone. Queen Daenerys was being foolish and childish for denying the people a trial. Arianne would have had the trial the moment she had Cersei in her grasp. Too many great  lords and ladies had been harmed by the Lannister’s fearful actions in the previous wars, it was stupid to delay it for any reason.

Arianne smiled. Perhaps it would be the Dragon Queen’s downfall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! I love Arianne a lot but I feel like she's kind of hard to write. Possibly because we are introduced to her so late in the game? 
> 
> Anyways, a lot of other chapters are at least partially written so I think another chapter will be out before the New Year :)


	10. Arya I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Starks ask for justice.

**ARYA**

* * *

Cersei’s trial should have happened more than a week ago and yet no one knew when it would occur - not even Jon. The rumors were that the Queen was investigating why Lannister soldiers were near Cersei’s cell, but Arya didn’t care. _Cersei needed to die._ “The delay is no matter, she shall receive justice,” Jon told Arya as if he understood who Cersei was.

_He did not._

He never saw who Cersei was before she went mad... if she was mad at all. Arya believed it to be a mummery, to protect herself from death.

But today had to be Cersei Lannister’s day to face the God of Death.

Sansa understood Arya’s anxieties and shared her own fears of Cersei escaping justice. “She was not as bad as Joffrey was,” Sansa said, twisting Arya’s hair into a Northern-style braid for the trial, “but she still deserves the swift strike of a sword. I’m afraid she will not receive what she deserves.” Sansa did not say why she feared it, but Arya understood.

“She will,” Arya vowed, not for her sister but for herself. Cersei took away everything, she took away her father, her mother, her brothers, even Gendry and Yoren and Hot Pie were taken away from her because of Cersei. The Gold Cloaks would never have looked for the boys heading to the Wall if it was not for Cersei. They never would have been prisoners of Harrenhal. They never would have been found by The Brotherhood Without Banners.

The stupid bull would have been safe. She and Gendry could have been with Jon this whole time, or with Bran and Rickon before Winterfell fell to the Boltons - if it fell at all. Arya wouldn’t have let it happen if she had been there. Bran wouldn’t have been able to fight and Rickon was a baby at the time. But Arya could have stopped them. She knew she could have. She wasn’t a mouse any longer.

“I hate the Lannisters.”

Sansa winced. “I know.”

Arya had forgotten. “I’m sorry, I know you were once one.” Not so long ago, Arya remembered, thinking of the Imp.

“I was never one of them.”

The two of them were silent for a moment, the only thing Arya could hear was the rustling of her hair as Sansa weaved a braid. The motion soothed Arya enough to ask Sansa a question she had been desperately wanting to know.

“What did Joffrey do to you?” she asked Sansa. “He was evil but I -- I was gone before it-”

Sansa stilled her hands and Arya regretted saying anything. “I’m sorry,” Arya said, but then Sansa shushed her, pulling Arya around to face her.

“He hit me,” Sansa said. Her eyes were steady yet far away and unfocused. Arya wondered if Sansa could even truly see her. “He had others hit me, in front of the whole court. Only Lord Tyrion stopped him.”

Arya stayed quiet. “Joffrey rejoiced at the Red Wedding,” Sansa continued. Her face was now the color of her hair. “He destroyed a wedding gift Tyrion gave him in front of the entire court. The Tyrells were upset about that, I remember...” she trailed off, frowning. “He did so many awful things, Arya, to so many people that I can’t even recall them all. And so much has happened since... it's almost hard to remember it all.”

 _Littlefinger had happened_ Arya knew by the look in Sansa’s eyes. Sansa said almost nothing of her time of the Vale to Arya, speaking about it as much as Arya spoke about Gendry and Harrenhal and the Faceless Men.

She wondered where Gendry was. _If he’s even alive..._

She hoped he was alive. 

“Cersei will die,” Arya promised Sansa. “If not by the Targaryen’s hand, then by mine.”

Sansa shook her head. “Arya, we finally have peace. Don’t break it for my sake.”

Arya stared into her sister’s Tully eyes, frustrated but wise enough to keep a blank face. “I won’t.” _I’ll break it for Father’s. And Gendry's. And Weasel's. And Robb's. And Mother's._

_And mine._

Sansa frowned. “I know you’re lying, Arya.”

Arya was too surprised to deny it. “How?”

“You clenched your right fist for a moment,” Sansa sighed. “Littlefinger may have been terrible, but I see much more now than I did before.”

Arya spat. “I hope he’s burning in all seven hells.”

Surprisingly, Sansa laughed. “I believe everyone is hoping for that.”

“What happened to his brothels?” Arya asked, curious.

Sansa’s smile, which had diminished after her sudden burst of laughter, grew coy. “They’re mine.”

“How?”

“He called me his daughter for a long time,” Sansa said, still smiling. “And with the help of several families in the Vale, they wrote to the Queen and vouched that I was Littlefinger’s heir. You see, they ended up hating him as much as I did.”

“What are you going to do with them?” Arya’s mind was swimming. “Wait -- does that mean you are a Lady of the Fingers as well as the Lady of the North?”

Sansa shrugged. “For now. The whorehouses I shall probably sell to Lord Tyrion. But what will I do with those rocky lands? Better to grant them to our cousin Robin, or better yet, our cousin’s heir Harry Hardyng and gain his favor. ”

“Is Robin as sickly as they say?”

Sansa looked troubled. “Worse.”

“Oh.” Arya wasn’t sure how to feel about a cousin she never knew being so close to death and madness. _Did he weep for Robb?_

Arya was doubtful.

Sansa shook her head. “Arya, just please remember that many lives depend on you doing as the Queen bids.”

“She is not my Queen.” Arya wanted Jon to rule but he grimaced every time she brought it up.

Sansa ignored her as well. She always did when Arya brought up Jon’s right to rule. Sansa sighed, “Cersei will be dead before long in either case. She is as well as our dear cousin Robin.” Sansa stopped and looked troubled. “Although, I... I have yet to see her.”

Arya played with the ends of her dark hair. It felt softer than it had a week ago. “You will see her soon.”

“I know,” Sansa threw Arya a tight smile. “That is why we must look our best.”

“For Father and Robb and Mother,” Arya interjected, pulling at her braid.

Sansa held her chin up. “For the King in the North.”

Arya smiled, although she wasn’t sure why. “For the King in the North.”

* * *

The court was draped in fineries Arya had only seen in the homes of the richest courtesans in Braavos. She didn’t remember seeing these tapestries, the ones full of dragons and silver-haired Kings and Queens, when she was dragged into the room by Lannister guards in front of her brother and the Queen. There had been no golden effigy of the Queen nor had there been towers of candles along the side of the throne room.

It had been a bare room when she saw Jon as King for the first time, sitting on the edge of the stairs, and now it was lively full of people and things. It felt wrong for the room to be drenched in Targaryen colors and dragons just as it felt wrong seeing Jon wearing a dragon crest instead of a direwolf.

He sat beside the Iron Throne, on the steps as he always did, nodding at his aunt as she came into the room. Daenerys was gleaming in a silver dress that matched her hair, while her neck and head were covered in jewels the color of blood. It made Arya sick to look at her.

Cersei was not yet here - the Queen had not yet willed the prisoner’s presence, Sansa whispered to Arya in a voice loud enough for nearly everyone around them to hear. Why she did that Arya didn’t understand. But Sansa did so many things Arya didn’t understand. Like giggling at men that Arya knew Sansa thought were horrid. Sansa also spoke to women who had once treated her unkindly. Arya knew it was part of the _game_ , the sort of game the Kindly Man would have once wanted Arya to play, but she was done with those.

Sansa could play with other faces, but Arya wanted to keep her own. So she glared at the crowd silently, holding her head up high, hoping she looked as noble and strong as her lady mother once did.

Jon saw them standing in the front of the court and nodded. She only stared back, unsure of if she should acknowledge it or not, suddenly afraid of doing the wrong thing in front of them all.

But it was only when Sansa spoke, louder than everyone else, that Arya realized the nod wasn’t for her. “My lords and ladies,” Sansa began, “as well as my Queen. Is it not time that we discuss what to do with Cersei Lannister?”

Arya blinked. _Why didn’t they tell me they were doing this,_ Arya wondered but was too intrigued to interrupt, knowing it could spell defeat. If they were playing this game that meant there was no official trial yet, despite the Queen’s promise to her council and Sansa’s comforting words to Arya. This was Sansa and Jon forcing the Queen to acknowledge Cersei Lannister’s crimes in front of the entire court. 

“My Lady Stark,” Daenerys spoke from her Iron Throne, not moving even an inch in surprise, although Arya thought she saw the Queen’s eyes widen a fraction. “Are you petitioning the court or performing a mummer’s show?”

Sansa smiled and curtsied. “Which would please you more, your Grace? The North petitioning that a criminal receive justice for her crimes against the entire realm or a show solely for your benefit?”

Arya couldn’t help grinning at the Daenerys’ astonished expression, although she tried to hide it by covering her mouth with her hand. The Queen had underestimated Sansa. The crowd was watching and speaking in hushed tones and now Queen Daenerys would be forced to do the right thing.

“I have set a date for the trial,” the Queen said.

“And pushed it back twice,” an unexpected voice called out. Arya didn’t recognize the man the voice belonged to, it was an older man with dark, thinning hair. He stood in the archway on the opposite side of the throne room next to a woman all in red. Arya knew of her. Lady Melisandre. That meant that it was Lord Stannis Baratheon speaking. “As you have pushed aside other unwanted, troublesome things.” 

The Queen stood up and Jon followed suit, standing with his aunt. He looked as if he was on her side, but, by the way he kept looking over, Arya knew he was on theirs.

“I have pushed back only what I have needed to push back,” the Queen stated, her voice calm although Arya could see fire in her eyes. “There are many more important things to worry about than a prisoner languishing in the Black Cells.”

“She should be dead,” Arya said. She didn’t mean to say it out loud, but it seemed she did and now half the court was staring at her.

_Jaime Lannister was staring._

He stood next to a tall man ( _or was it a woman_? _Sansa would know_ ) and he looked so different than what she remembered. Perhaps he should have been added to her prayers, Arya thought, but he had protected Sansa so she thought...

But if he tried to stop her from killing his sister, he could die too.

“She should receive justice,” Jon agreed, loud enough for the court to hear. “Dear aunt, please allow my cousins peace.”

The Queen looked almost confused. “She is buried underneath this stone and yet you want more justice? Is death the only answer for a weak woman?”

Sansa laughed - quietly and bitterly - and moved forward so the Queen could see her better. She looked beautiful, Arya thought, watching her sister move with more grace and poise than any cat she had ever chased. “Cersei Lannister is many things, your Grace, but she is not a weak woman.”

The Queen stared at Sansa, her violet eyes seeing something that she had missed before. There was a moment’s peace. Arya could almost hear the whole court humming as they waited, even the stones were waiting for the Queen’s judgment.

“The Mad Queen will have her trial tomorrow morning.” The Queen said. “Dawn. All witnesses will need to be ready.”

“Yes, your Grace,” Sansa said, curtsying so deeply that for a moment Arya wondered if her sister would be able to get back up, but up she was, moving back into the crowd, reaching out for Arya. “Do not smile,” Sansa warned and Arya obeyed. “Curtsy before you leave.”

Arya obeyed again, performing a perfect curtsy. She wondered if Sansa was surprised about it, but Sansa said nothing, grabbing Arya’s arm and leading her from the room. There were murmurs and shouts in the court as they left, the whole room was in upheaval, so many members were surprised at the turn of events, but Arya wasn’t sure if she wanted to know about the players and the play at hand. She had enough of mummery. She looked towards her sister, who nodded.

“Tomorrow,” Sansa promised.

_Tomorrow._


	11. Davos II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trial of Cersei Lannister.

**DAVOS**

* * *

 

If Cersei Lannister had been called beautiful once it had to have happened before the war’s end. Her hair was thin and brittle if anyone even touched an end of a strand Davos was sure it would all fall off her head the way snow fell from the sky at the fallen Wall. She was thin - too thin in the way the peasants in the North and the Riverlands were, their faces sunken by grief and hunger. _The once Queen looked closer to a wight than a human_ , Davos thought before stealing a glance at Jaime Lannister sitting on the other side of the hall. He stared at his sister with hollow eyes.  The new High Septon spoke first - his prayer of justice causing Cersei Lannister to sneer, her eyes looking closer to fire than emeralds. Davos wanted to look at the Stark sisters, to see what they thought of it but knew better than that. They were behind him and it would be hard to discreetly see what they thought of this prayer or of Cersei Lannister herself.

Davos had thought, when Cersei first entered, that he heard Lady Sansa gasp, but he knew so little about the woman that was once Jon Snow’s sister that he was not quite sure if he was correct.  

Silence filled the hall as Queen Daenerys stepped forward, looking at Cersei in her eyes. The Queen looked almost sad. “Do you wish for a trial by combat?” Queen Daenerys asked her predecessor.

Cersei glared at the Dragon Queen. “No.” This surprised Davos and a few others, he was sure. Melisandre had argued with him the day before until the moon lit the sky whether Cersei would appeal for a court champion, that perhaps Jaime Lannister still had some of his warrior’s skill and would defend his beloved sister, but that was not to be. Davos looked over at the Lannister warrior again. _Did Ser Jaime fear for his own life as well as his sister’s? Or were the rumors true? Did another find her way into his bed? Or his heart?_

The Kingslayer revealed nothing, stoically staring at his sister while the Queen spoke. “Then the trial by law shall begin,” Queen Daenerys said before taking a breath. “I shall be the sole judge.” At this statement... the crowd stirred, almost beside themselves about what this meant.

Davos could see Lord Stannis’ jaw twitch beside him. No one liked this breach of tradition. There should be three judges. Lord Stannis, Davos knew, had hoped to be one of them, but perhaps the Queen thought only she could be unbiased in the trial of such a hated figure. Lord Tyrion, the Queen’s hand, had hoped to be another, possibly to mock the cruel trial that he was given, but, instead, the Queen refused him a seat in the audience at all, earlier that morning. Davos was sure the Imp had found a way to watch anyhow but did not dare to look for him. “Begin the trial, my lords and ladies,” the Queen added, before stepping away back into her seat.

And began the trial did. It was a difficult thing to watch so early in the morning - Davos found it hard to keep his eyes open as testimony droned on for almost two hours. Lady Shireen beside him was drooping in exhaustion and only after the first hour did Lord Stannis suggest his daughter leave for brighter things. The sweet girl agreed readily and left quietly. Davos was glad, the things spoken of in the trial were things that Princess Shireen was not ready to hear. Reading about it afterward...   _perhaps Princess Shireen would handle that well_ , he thought, for reading often allows some distance from the matter at hand.

Most of the trial was the often repeated gossip - her rumored hand in King Robert’s death was just one of the repeated accounts. Lord Stannis himself took the stand and spoke of Lord Arryn’s suspicions of Joffrey’s parenthood, although he left Ser Jaime out of it.

Ser Jaime himself seemed surprised by the omission if his glance towards his companion meant anything. Lord Stannis was not fond of Jaime Lannister so Davos could not understand why he didn’t speak the truth.

 _Everyone important knew the truth, though_ , Davos thought. Ser Jaime himself spoke of it. Perhaps that was why...

A letter from Lady Olenna Tyrell, the ancient matriarch, was read out loud by the boy Samwell Tarly, whose ears were pink as he told the court what was said. “Lady Olenna says that Cersei Lannister conspired to have her granddaughter, Lady Margaery, murdered and when that failed, tried by the Faith despite being kin through marriage to Cersei.”

Cersei said nothing to any of the charges the witnesses brought to the court. In fact, the once Queen looked almost bored by the running commentary. If a goblet of wine had been in her hands, the picture that Tyrion often drew in his descriptions of his sister would have been complete.

“It is your turn,” he heard one Stark lady whisper to another behind him and, with a flutter of skirts, soon Sansa Stark was in front of them all, her head held high as she stared at Cersei.

Lady Sansa was truly a beautiful girl but it was not her beauty that caught Davos’ eye. Her straight back and her fiery hair almost countered her icy countenance as she stared down at Cersei Lannister. Davos looked at Cersei whose face closely matched Lady Sansa’s hair. It was the first time an expression had crossed the woman’s face in the trial.

“You killed my son,” Cersei’s eyes were red. “You wretched bitch.”

Lady Sansa was cool in her reply. “Littlefinger did that.” She then turned to Queen Daenerys. “Do I have your leave to bring my statement forward?”

Queen Daenerys nodded a fraction, just enough for Davos to sense the Queen’s anger towards Lady Sansa. The Queen would not forgive the girl for humiliating her yesterday nor forgive Lord Stannis or King Jon for their part in forcing this trial.

 _But it had to be done._ Justice was sorely needed. Only then could there be healing for the Seven Kingdoms. Cersei Lannister represented the old sins and, _for that alone_ , the trial was needed. For the smallfolk and for the noble families she hurt. For Lord Stannis who lost a brother due to her machinations.

“What did I do to you, _sweetling_?” Cersei asked, her voice wracked with miserable anger. “What did I do to you that you didn’t cause yourself? You are the one who told me of your father’s treachery. And then Joffrey rightfully had him executed.”

Lady Sansa’s expression froze. “You let him beat me.”

Cersei’s grin was sly. “He was the King.”

“He was a boy who needed a better mother.”

With a shriek, Cersei Lannister tried to run to Sansa but the guards who surrounded her stopped her with little effort on their part and the Lannister Queen was suddenly down on the ground, screaming and wailing like a mad child. Lady Sansa watched this with little pity in her eyes. But pity was still there, Davos noticed, although there wasn’t much of it. For that Davos could not blame her. The display was more sickening than pitying.

“Lady Sansa, please step down,” Queen Daenerys said. “I think you have made your point.”

“Then my sister will supplant me,” Lady Sansa said and soon enough Lady Arya was there in her stead, her long dark hair plaited intricately.

Stannis stirred beside him. “She looks like Lady Lyanna.”

“Truly?” Davos whispered.

Lord Stannis snorted. “It is probably good that Robert is long dead for he would have ruined his friendship with Ned Stark for that girl.”

Davos was uncomfortable chasing that thought and so paid attention to the girl they spoke of instead. “You ordered the murder of any of Robert Baratheon’s supposed bastards,” Lady Arya said. Despite being the smaller one of the two Stark sisters, her powerful voice allowed her to take up the whole room. It was the same sort of authority and command that Queen Daenerys had in her voice. It made all others pay attention. “The Gold Cloaks slew babes on your behalf.”

Cersei Lannister ignored that. She was standing again, looking around at the court with disdain, as if she had not wept on the ground minutes beforehand. “This is Arya Stark?” she asked no one while sneering. “I thought she was dead.”

Arya continued as if she didn’t hear. “The Gold Cloaks, on the Queen Regent’s behest, attacked recruited men of the Night’s Watch, men who did not belong to any kingdom any longer. They belonged to the Night’s Watch - they belonged to the fight against evil and darkness and, because of you, they are dead. They should have died fighting white walkers and wights but instead, they died because of _you_.”

“What is she speaking of?” Lord Stannis asked, frowning. “I have not heard of this.”

Lady Sansa, who was again behind them, leaned forward and whispered. “My sister hid amongst Night’s Watch recruits after she fled the Red Keep. She would have been home safe in Winterfell or on the Wall with Jon if Cersei had not sent men after some bastard of Robert’s.

“Did the bastard live?” Davos asked.

“I am unsure,” Lady Sansa admitted. “Arya claims she has no idea who the bastard might have been.” With that statement, the northern lady retreated back into her seat, leaving Davos and Lord Stannis to think over what she said.

“Would a bastard of Robert’s have a claim on the throne?” Davos asked and Lord Stannis’ eyes grew hard.

“As true of a claim as a Blackfyre. That is not why Cersei had them killed,” Lord Stannis said, before clenching his jaw. “She had them killed because they all looked like Robert and none of her illegitimate children did.”

Lady Arya spoke little else after that, but it seemed her added testimony of ordering the death of Robert’s bastards caused the room to murmur more than the rest. Supposedly no one had heard of this order before, although Davos was unconvinced of this.

Qyburn, the failed maester, was brought forward. While he once wore chains around his neck, now there were chains wrapped around his hands. Not even Cersei Lannister’s wrists were bound in chains, but she had been a Queen, Davos supposed, which made all the difference.

The once Queen’s eyes widened at Qyburn’s approach. Her mouth sank into her face but she said nothing, perhaps too frightened by his appearance for the false maester looked more wretched than the Queen.

Qyburn ignored Cersei’s gaze. “Queen Cersei understood the necessity of my experiments. She allowed me access to men and women who were of no use to her or the kingdom.”

Queen Daenerys’ gaze was steady but her mouth was pinched. She did not like what Qyburn was saying at all.

The man continued to speak, his chains clinking, unaware of what his words were doing to the crowd. He spoke of Falyse Stokeworth - who died screaming from Qyburn’s experiments after Cersei put the poor woman in his care - and the Blue Bard who went mad at the hands of the Faith and what was left of Unella - the septa that had tried to make Cersei confess her sins.

Davos wanted to leave the scene, wanted to make the man stop speaking.

If Cersei Lannister had been evil enough to deal with this man - to _like_ this man then she should be dead. _Melisandre burning them both would almost be a fate too kind._

* * *

The Queen’s face was a mask.

She did not want to kill the dying. And Cersei Lannister was certainly that. Ill and mad, she ought to have been killed the moment Daenerys stood in the emptied halls of the Red Keep when everyone had abandoned Cersei to her fate. Cersei should have been struck down the moment she denied the Queen access to the throne.

_The moment she slept with her brother instead of her King._

_The moment she started a war with Ned Stark’s head._

It was only _just_ for her to die. It was only _merciful_ to relieve a mad dog from this world.

But the Queen had no heart for justice. Not against someone who had yet to harm her directly.

“She will weaken the throne,” Lord Jorah said and for once Davos agreed with the man. “Why are you so keen to spare her?”

The Queen did not respond.  

Lord Jorah tried again. “Are you sparing her for her children? They know of her sins. I am sure they will forgive you for justice.”

“How could they?” the Queen asked.

Davos tried to speak ( _they know of their mother’s sins_ ) but Lord Jorah spoke first. “Don’t let this be like the witch woman.”

The Queen turned red. Davos had never seen the Queen so emotional and terse. She was usually like her nephew, still and quiet, watching others instead of speaking her true thoughts. _But this_ , he thought, _this is why she is the Mother of Dragons_. Her fury flowered around her as if she was breathing fire.

Lord Jorah must have realized he made a poor decision in speaking so frankly to his Queen for he backed away from the table in two steps. “My lady,” he said.

“Your Grace,” she corrected, her eyes red instead of violet.

“Your Grace,” he repeated, his slave marks casting him as a coward and a fool.

Lord Davos was not entirely sure what the Queen’s goals were now that she was at home in the Seven Kingdoms. How did she wish to be seen? Was fire and blood all she knew? Was defeating slavers her only goal?

 _Slavers_... this gave Davos an idea. “Your grace,” Davos said, bowing as deeply as he could before continuing. “Cersei Lannister has violated the rights of men and women and children. She even gave a girl to the late Lord Baelish who had the girl, a sweet simple girl, treated like a broodmare in preparation for being sold to the Boltons. The girl was forced to do terrible things. Lord Stannis saw the girl after Theon Greyjoy saved her, did you not, my lord?”

Stannis nodded. “I had forgotten about this or else I would have mentioned it in my testimony.”

“It is not as terrible as most of what was said in there,” the Queen said, although her eyes said something different. They were full of anger. “But it does put the Queen in another light. She gave this girl away?”

“She was a companion of Sansa Stark when she first came to the Red Keep.”

“So young,” the Queen said, twisting a handkerchief. She moved away from her chair and stared at the window. Davos didn’t dare to breathe.

“Your Grace, we must decide,” Ser Jorah said.

The Queen did not turn around. “You mean I must decide,” she said softly. “I am the sole judge in this case.”

Lord Varys tutted. “To be truthful, your Grace, if we are to judge Cersei Lannister so harshly, should we not judge her brother? I know he has done great deeds for the Kingdom but he has also committed great sins for his own benefit. He has confessed much of it to us and more of it to his companion Lady Brienne. Even Sansa Stark knows more than we do.”

The Queen turned around then, her eyes flashing. “You dare question my wisdom?”

Lord Varys coughed and blushed, stammering. “Oh-oh no, no, your Grace! I only wonder if, with those guards, well, _I worry_ , your Grace. He has not done much to endear himself to you. Has he truly proven his loyalty? Why are you rewarding him for nothing? He did not even fight at the Wall like the rest of the men here.” He coughed and smiled benignly, “Excluding myself, of course, although I hope I’ve proven myself in other ways.”

The Queen frowned. “This is true.”

“I am not advocating for his death, please be assured, my Queen!” Lord Varys said emphatically. “I cannot bear the thought of more blood in these halls!” _Liar_ , Davos thought. “But I must request a fair trial for him as well. There is so much uncertainty in these times...”

“No trial,” Queen Daenerys said, her violet eyes flashing. “But he shall prove his loyalty.”

“How?” asked Lord Stannis. “By saving another member of the Stark brood?”

The Queen did not smile. “By executing his sister.”

“That will make him twice-cursed,” Davos said without thinking. He bowed his head once he said it, knowing his tongue would get him in trouble. “I do beg pardon, my lady, but he will be a kinslayer for doing this. The Seven Kingdoms have seen enough of such violence, please, I beg you.”

“It is justice,” the Queen said and her voice was kind. “And it is proof that he will do as I say.”

Lord Stannis grumbled but said nothing of use. _He could not say much because of_ _Renly,_ Davos thought and wished it wasn’t true. But wishes were wind.

“It is a good idea,” Lord Varys said, almost smiling.

Ser Jorah bowed his head. “We shall see your justice done, Khaleesi.”

“Good,” Queen Daenerys said. “See to it, Ser Jorah. Announce my judgment.”

“I shall,” Ser Jorah said before sweeping from the room. Davos was glad he was not in the audience, hearing the judgment with the court. This was as much of a punishment for Ser Jaime as it was for his sister. It was a cruel punishment that perhaps did befit their sins... but would it not have been better to have the judgment kinder than the crime? Would that not have been an act of a true leader? True mercy would be slicing the head off Queen Cersei’s shoulders without either of her brothers near.

There was little left in that conversation that Davos had the privilege of hearing. The Queen cast them all out of her small council -- King Jon had not even been there at all. It was the first official crack in the betrothal agreement.

Davos thought of speaking to King Jon now. Lord Stannis did not need him at the moment, he was wallowing in a bath in his private chambers, unhappy with the Queen. Davos wondered what their marriage would be like - if she even agreed to it. He was beginning to think the Queen would refuse to marry any man, too terrified of her power being stolen right under her nose. For that, Davos was not sure he could blame her.

King Jon would not do that (willingly, at least, other lords would have different ideas) although a King Stannis would. If Davos was a true advisor to the Queen, he’d advisor her to marry a man with a good lasting name, a historical name, but one leagues under her, so he could not try to climb up top. A man that was kind but simple and who would never ask for more. Where she’d find such a man, Davos did not know. He was only glad he was not advising her. Stannis was a simpler man to understand for he had simple goals.

_Protect the Kingdom._

_Become the King._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I hope that was worth the wait? 
> 
> And, since I feel like at least one person might wonder or comment about this, Shireen is Princess Shireen to Davos the same way Princess Leia is still a Princess to us all ;)


	12. Jaime II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The execution of Cersei Lannister.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a really painful chapter for me to write and while a lot of chapters after this are partially or almost fully written, this was not for a long while. I only truly finished it last night. 
> 
> Despite this disclaimer, I hope you still find the chapter interesting.

**JAIME**

* * *

Brienne stole him out of the room as soon as the trial ended, her homely face pained and sallow. The Queen left the court to deliberate the judgment with her key advisors and Jaime suspected the outcome would not be good for his sweet sister.

But, for now, Cersei was placed back in the Black Cells, screaming for the dead all the while. Father is gone, _sister,_ he wanted to say but how would she have heard him? It didn’t even seem as though she could _see_ him. She never looked at him while she sat there, screaming about valonqars and prophecies that Jaime had only heard of after he came back. Prophecies that were nonsense for two of their children still lived.

“You must go somewhere and rest,” Brienne said, pulling his arm hard as if he were a misbehaving child. But, no, the misbehaving child was Cersei in front of the entire court. _Screaming and crying like a babe off her mother’s teat._ It had made Jaime sick to see the truth of his sister so plainly.

He wondered what Tyrion thought of the trial. Jaime had not seen his younger brother in the court, he was most like hiding in the back with Varys, grinning from ear to ear. Jaime could not blame his brother if he was smiling. Cersei had treated him with ill will since the day he was born.

And Jaime never stopped her from doing so. He had failed them both.

He had failed them all.

“At least the judgment will be swift,” Jaime said to Brienne.

She bit her lip. “Will they come after you now?”

He laughed to assuage her worries. “After me? _Why_ \- the Queen pardoned me.”

“That means nothing to men like Stannis.”

Brienne was still holding his arm, he noticed, and so he was easily able to lean in close to her, causing a red flush to swathe her neck. “I will be fine, my lady,” he said to her, enjoying how she simultaneously scowled and blushed. “I will not abandon you to your fate as Ser Jorah’s wife. I will marry you if you’ll have me.”

She pushed him aside. “Do not jape of such things!”

Jaime smiled at her, glad to see the spark of life again. He could not bear it if this trial killed her too. “I will be fine, Brienne, I promise you. They will not harm me.”

Brienne shook her head. “Any harm that comes to your family harms you too. I know it.”

He wanted to argue with her, but could not. Jaime thought of his father’s strange mouth and how it smiled in death the way it never had in life - _and_ _how Joffrey disappeared from the world the way my seed disappeared into Cersei’s cunt._

“You know it’s true, Ser Jaime,” Brienne said. “Her death will harm you terribly and then you will -” She stopped suddenly and chewed on her bottom lip.

“I will what?” he asked, curious.

“It is of no matter.”

Jaime thought of pressing her more about it but knew that the hallway outside the court was not the time or the place. Especially as Cersei’s life still hung in the balance. “Come, my lady,” he said, “Let us rest. They will tell us when they’re ready.”

Brienne agreed and he walked her back to her own room. “Bathe and rest before dressing,” he told her. “You must look well for the court.”

“You should do the same,” she said and he grinned back.

“Is the Maiden of Tarth telling me that I smell?” he japed.

She looked ready to roll her eyes. “I shall see you later, Jaime.”

“Yes, my lady,” he winked and then left her to rest.

But he could not rest himself. He thought of walking up to the Lord Commander’s tower, as there still was no King or Queensguard so the tower was most like abandoned, but thought it was best not to wander into places Lannisters weren’t wanted.

So, instead, he wandered the halls, watching the sunset as he did so, hoping that he would not run into any Starks, even Lady Sansa. On a day like today, he would not be surprised if Sansa had forgotten all about the camaraderie between them and instead focused on how his family utterly decimated her own. Jaime was still surprised the young girl was forgiving towards him at all but suspected her nature was too similar to Brienne’s.

It would not suit them well here, he thought, as he walked towards his room.

To his surprise, Tyrion awaited him, a handful of soldiers in gleaming white armor surrounding his brother. Jaime recognized none of them and so with a wary feeling settling in his heart, he looked down at Tyrion.

“Brother,” Tyrion said. “I think it is past time we spoke.”

* * *

Tyrion’s brother’s eyes were different than before - this man’s eyes were nothing like the ones his brother had. There was no quip hidden underneath the dark irises - just anger and fear. Jaime looked to his brother’ guards and smiled at them, raising a glass.

_Has anyone thought to actually ask the guards who sent them?_

As if Tyrion could read his thoughts, he said, “Yes, I’ve personally interviewed some of the guards that were found by Cersei’s cell myself... although I can assure you that the Queen is not quite aware of that.”

“Not quite?” Jaime asked. In another life, he might’ve smirked at his brother. Now, he only felt tired of the quips and japes that eased out of Tyrion’s mouth the way wine eased in. “Tyrion, speak truths.”

Tyrion’s smile was terrible. “I only speak half-truths, as you know. I’d say as you love about me, but love never comes very simply to a Lannister, now does it... _brother_?”

“What do you know?” Jaime asked, too weary of the games. “Is Cersei to be killed?”

“Yes,” Tyrion said. “Lord Varys told me himself. They are announcing it in the court at this very moment.”

Jaime felt nothing. “Should we not be there then?”

Tyrion smiled. “No, brother, you are not allowed in there yet.”

Jaime suddenly realized the number of armored men had increased while they spoke. _I am getting much too old for this._ “Tyrion, what did you do?”

“I did nothing,” Tyrion said and Jaime almost believed it. “I just know what the Queen is planning for you.”

“And what is that? I am to be beheaded next to my sister?” Jaime asked.

Tyrion’s mismatched eyes left his, choosing to gaze at the floor instead. “No, Jaime. Not unless you do not do what the Queen asks.”

“And what, pray tell, is that?”

Tyrion looked back into Jaime’s eyes, his expression steely. “You must be the one to behead our sweet sister.”

Jaime said nothing. He could not even think of anything until... “I thought that was something you wanted to do. You should mention that to the Queen.”

Tyrion scowled. “I would if I could. I would have her roasted by all three dragons - she deserves it for what she did to me.” Tyrion had another sip of his wine while Jaime thought of what Tyrion would look like if he had no hands. _Or head._ With a sigh, Tyrion added, “They will kill you if you don’t do this, Jaime.”

“And what will they do to you if I don’t do it?” Jaime asked.

“They will hurt everyone you love until you do it, Jaime,” Tyrion said.

Jaime laughed. “Will you be my executioner? Will Lady Brienne? Will Lady Sansa suddenly wield a sword?”

Tyrion’s voice was strange. “I did not realize you were so close with my lady wife.”

“She is your lady wife no longer, Tyrion.”

Tyrion’s hand shook as he raised it to drink his wine. “Do you plan to make her your lady wife then?”

Jaime laughed outright. “Are you mad? I want nothing more to do with the children of Ned Stark. I only had to save them and return them home. My task has been completed for me.”

“There are still two missing boys,” Tyrion corrected, but his fingers were not shaking any longer. “Then you wish for another to be your lady wife?”

“I am of the Kingsguard,” Jaime lied, half-laughing. “I cannot marry anyone, least of all my soon to be dead sister.”

“I did not mean her,” Tyrion protested but then his face turned sly. It was no wonder they called him the Imp when he looked like that, Jaime thought. “You will be a kinslayer like me soon enough. We shall be twice cursed together - or, excuse me, thrice cursed as we are also Kingslayers.”

“You did not kill Joffrey,” Jaime said. “The entire court knows it was Littlefinger’s plot and Lady Sansa told me the truth of it long ago.”

“Did she now?” Tyrion mulled this over with another sip of his wine. “I should have fucked her, you know. I didn’t but I should have. Maybe everyone would be alive still. Perhaps my kindness inflicted Littlefinger upon us all.”

Jaime said nothing.

“You are quite boring now, brother. Is this the influence of the Maid of Tarth? Or, as I’ve heard her called by many, the Kingslayer’s Whore.”

Jaime relaxed his grip on his chair. He had not even realized he had been holding on so tightly. “Lady Brienne is still a maid despite her journeys. She is very good at taking care of herself.”

“Except when she is not,” Tyrion said. “And that is when she comes calling for you, I hear. You left your duties for her when you would not for our sister. If this was your... _Lady_ Brienne who was about to be executed - would you be so cavalier? So calm?”

Jaime exhaled, hoping his brother would soon leave. “Tyrion, what do you want?”

Tyrion smiled, his eyes terrible. “I want to know where whores go.”

Jaime wondered if this had something to do with Tysha, but did not dare to speak her name. He did not deserve to, anyhow. If Brienne knew of it, she would not even entertain the thought of marrying him.  

Tyrion left Jaime after that final statement, only briefly telling the guards outside the door to wait for the Queen.

And so Jaime sat in his room, awaiting the dragon.

* * *

The daylight came too fast. Jaime had never wished so desperately for the night as he did now.

 _I wish I wanted to save her,_ he thought but he had not wanted to save her since... Moon Boy and all the others. _Should I hate Tyrion for allowing me to see the truth of her? Or should I hate myself for being so blind - for agreeing to her demands. For doing as much evil as she did?_

The journey to the Great Sept of Baelor was quiet - the King’s Landing peasants had yet to hear of the Mad Queen’s sentence. It would not be quiet for long, Jaime knew and dreaded it.

He was only glad that he was not in the same company as his sister - the screeching she would do would alert them all to her troubles. And like buzzards, the peasants would descend, feeding on her misery with glee.

He hoped Brienne was not there, hoped she did as he bid in the letter he snuck to Addam Marbrand. He could not bear if she saw this. He knew Brienne would hate the spectacle here as much as she hated the trial. But he also knew she would be there, standing with Lady Sansa and her sister, watching with her eyes, praying for him under her breath.

When they reached the ruins of the Great Sept, Queen Daenerys showed Jaime a Valyrian sword that looked faintly familiar. “It is called the Widow’s Wail,” she told him. “I heard your... _nephew_ named it.”

Widow’s Wail was Oathkeeper’s twin, his son’s sword - _Ned Stark’s sword_. It was a cruel thing to do to him, but then, so was this.

Cersei was dragged out before the enlarging crowd of spectators who screamed at the sight of her. Jaime did not dare look at the crowd, he looked at Cersei.

She was beautiful even now, minutes before her death. “What, what are you doing here? Jaime?” she asked, her voice low. He wondered who could hear her. Her hands were bound, but, still, she tried to reach for him.

Ser Jorah pushed Cersei down on the block and Jaime went forward, intending to stop the man from doing more harm, but it was too late. Cersei was splayed against the block. It was then that Jaime turned his attention to the Queen about to plead for a blindfold as Cersei screamed profanities, but the Queen was speaking to the crowd, her eyes alight. 

Jaime could not listen to the words - he could not even hear what the dragon spawn said. He could only see Cersei. Cersei as a _child_ laughing at the weak lions that loitered Casterly Rock - Cersei as a _young woman_ hiding herself in a maid’s clothes as she launched herself at his mouth - Cersei as the _Queen_ of the whole world looking as beautiful as any one person ever could -

“Hand him the sword,” Jaime heard the Queen order and suddenly Widow’s Wail was in his left hand, feeling awkward and clumsy as if it belonged in someone else’s hand. He imagined himself swinging it now - knocking the Queen on her ass, swiping the head of Ser Jorah’s shoulders, cutting Varys’ evil tongue out, but only gripped the hilt tighter than before, thinking of sapphires.

Jaime advanced on his sister, his tongue thick in his mouth. His steps were heavy as if the Wolf King’s chains still choked his ankles and every moment felt like ten. Cersei’s neck was pale and thin, much like the rest of her. “Oh Jaime, Jaime, _please, no_ ,” she said in one breath and with another, she’d cry out, “Just do it you cripple old fool! **_Do it_**!”

Jaime stood there awhile, having difficulty with holding the sword with his left hand. He wanted to make it as painless as possible for her, although her screeching wails made it difficult to concentrate - as did the stares and jeers of all the people around them.

Standing on the remains of the Great Sept of Baelor - where Ned Stark’s head was removed - made it all worse. It was justice for the Starks this way, the Queen had said, but Jaime did not agree.

Justice would be nothing like this.

_Not even Ned Stark would ask me for this - and he had hated me for as long as he had known me. For he saw me as I truly was - the Kingslayer. He would only ask for my head - he would not ask for me to deliver Cersei’s. Not even he wanted her gone._

The crowd shrieked and called out terrible names and Jaime awoke from his thoughts, still clutching the hilt. He raised the sword. _At least I can make this painless. Please_ , he pleaded, _if there are any gods at all_ , _let this be painless. Let this be painless._

“Do it!” Cersei screamed again. “Coward, coward, cowa-”

Widow’s Wail descended.

The crowd screamed - with joy or fury, Jaime did not know.  He just knew there were tears on his face and Cersei’s head had somehow fallen into the dirty street below, where a peasant man made a grab for it until a guardsmen knocked the man aside. The guardsman grabbed Cersei's head by the hair, throwing it over his shoulder as if it was a sack of flour rather than the head of a Queen.

“Let us go,” Queen Daenerys said, suddenly beside him. "This is no sight a brother should see."

And so he left his sister.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to cut some stuff out of this chapter that I really wanted to include because it just didn't work, including: inheritance politics, shipping, Tyrion being an even bigger jerk than he already is in this particular chapter (don't worry, he's got an upcoming chapter and he's a bit more cheerful/less of a jackass there) and so on and so forth.
> 
> Anyways, next chapter will have some interesting news and after that we should be on a roll with the main plot. I can't wait until we start getting into the thick of it all, including the romances (some of which have yet to be added to the roster). Which reminds me, as I've said before, I don't add things until the feelings are on a published chapter since this story isn't really about ships, exactly.
> 
> But I'm really excited about the upcoming chapters although I'm still not sure where this will end! And I'm also really sorry about the length of this author's note ah!


	13. Sansa II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa watches the aftermath.

**SANSA**

* * *

 

The moment it was over, the moment the Kingslayer - _Ser Jaime_ \- killed his sister, that was when Sansa wondered if she had committed a terrible wrong. Jon was not near although she wished he was for she could not speak her thoughts to Arya or even Brienne. Both were too entwined in the proceedings to understand Sansa’s sudden shock of fear.

 _Have we made a mistake,_ she wondered. Sansa hoped her worries were for naught but suspected something was off. Perhaps it was only her worry for Ser Jaime, who weeped at the sight of his sister’s head falling onto the street. Not even her father’s head had fallen into the street - _Joffrey only had it spiked_ , she thought bitterly. She sometimes still wished she had pushed Joffrey off the ledge, but the Hound saved her from herself. And Joffrey died anyhow - just by the hands of Littlefinger, Ser Dontos, and Lady Olenna instead of her own.

Sansa hurried Arya out of the streets, grateful for the large and intimidating presence of Brienne who would keep them safe, but she was not eager to discuss what they saw. Arya was positively gleeful about the proceedings if her slowly widening smile was any indication. Sansa hoped that at last her sister had peace - for Arya still spoke so little of her time after their father's death that Sansa was afraid her sister was trapped in a dark place. But maybe now...

She left Arya in her rooms when they finally reached the Red Keep, and walked with Brienne to the gardens, unable to keep still at such an early hour. The sun had yet to reach the highest point in the sky - there was still so much day left.

 _I thought I would have peace._ But no peace came to Sansa’s heart. Fear was grasping and tugging her and when she met Brienne’s eyes, she was grateful to see fear there too. “Is Ser Jaime going to be...?” Sansa asked, unable to finish her thought.

Brienne shook her head. “I do not know,” she said. “I hope so, but I do not believe I could do what he did.”

“Why did he do it?”

“I do not know for sure,” Brienne said, clearly troubled, “but I suspect he thought he was protecting others. That is when he does his worst acts.”

Sansa looked away from Brienne to face the city, glad her sister was not here. “What about my brother? What about Bran?”

“You know this story, my lady.”

“Please tell me it again.”

Sansa could hear Brienne sigh. “I believe Ser Jaime would explain it better. And he is ashamed of his actions now.”

“He was afraid that if Bran told one of us what he saw...” Sansa said, “King Robert would kill them all.”

“Yes.”

Sansa sniffed. “Then he never should have been with Cersei at all.”

“I agree,” Brienne said. “He should not have acted on his feelings.”

“They should not have had feelings,” Sansa said, resisting the urge to scratch her arms. She was suddenly feeling itchy. “They were family - they were not supposed to be lovers.”

“Incest is an abomination by the gods,” Brienne said. “And yet when they grew up their King and Queen practiced it. Perhaps it was confusing for children? I don’t know. I cannot pretend to understand.” Brienne sounded tired. “I do not want to understand, in truth.”

“If Bran hadn’t climbed the tower that day... do you think any of this would have happened?” Sansa asked, before answering her own question. “It would have, of course it would have, because of _Littlefinger_. He and my aunt killed Lord Arryn and confused my parents with letters and whispered words. Neither of them were made for this world of treachery and deceit.” _And neither was I._

“Your mother was strong,” Brienne reprimanded. “And she loved you all more than life itself.”

“I know,” Sansa said, remembering Lady Stoneheart’s cruel eyes that turned watery once she saw Sansa. “I know it well. But I wish she and my father understood the game better.”

“Your mother did,” Brienne said and Sansa was startled to realize the lady warrior was crying so softly that Sansa would not have noticed if Brienne had not wiped her cheek. “But no one listened to her. That’s why she freed Ser Jaime  - no one listened to what she said. They should have - she had more courage than any man I have ever known.”

“I am glad she had you,” Sansa said, touching Brienne’s shoulder. “She knew that you were good and honorable. Lady Brienne, you are so good and honorable that you made the _Kingslayer_ good and honorable.”

Brienne brushed Sansa’s hand aside. “He was that before - he had just forgotten who he was.”

Sansa pursed her lips and _wondered_. “I hear that Queen Daenerys is arranging a marriage for you. Have you chosen to accept Ser Jaime instead yet?”

Brienne’s eyes were wide in surprise. It made Sansa laugh. “Oh, Brienne, Ser Jaime told me of it not long after your first meeting with the Queen. I will not need him in Winterfell - in fact, he’ll cause many problems especially with Arya - you should take him by your side. Wouldn’t you rather have him than some boring, cruel lord who tries to take away your sword?”

Brienne took out Oathkeeper from its scabbard. Sometimes Sansa longed to touch its hilt, it was that beautiful... and it had once been her father's sword. _Ice._  But now Oathkeeper gleamed in the sunlight in Brienne's marred hands. “No one but you can take my sword away, my lady,” Brienne said holding it out to Sansa.

Sansa shook her head and waved Brienne away. “I told you, it is yours now. If I will take any sword back it will be Widow’s Wail - for that would make Joffrey extremely angry if he were alive and my father extremely pleased.” Arya would be pleased to work with a Valyrian sword of her own. Jon still had Longclaw, the ancestral sword of House Mormont, not that Ser Jorah knew about it. If he did, Sansa was sure there would be problems.

Brienne ducked her head and Sansa laughed at the sight. “Surely, my lady, you must marry him.”

“He’s a kinslayer now,” Brienne said, clearly troubled.

“So is half the kingdom, I’m sure, after these wars,” Sansa said. “The world is full of oathbreakers. Did it not bother you that he was a Kingslayer and an oathbreaker before today? I know you love him.”

Brienne didn’t look at Sansa. “I cannot marry him, my lady.”

 _I was right?_  Sansa was joyful. “You must if you love him!”

“I am afraid.”

“Of what?”

“He does not mean it, you know, Lady Sansa,” Brienne said. “He speaks kindly to me now but it is a pitying kindness. I am tired of pity.”

“I do not understand.”

“He japes with me so often I lose track of the truth. I do not know if I love him or not - I am truly to be the Kingslayer’s Whore if I marry him.”

Sansa grabbed Brienne’s hand, hoping the older girl would forgive the impertinence. “You will be Ser Jaime’s wife and the Lady of Tarth. You will be a mother to your children and a ruler to your people. You will have your own island far from the worries of this evil place. Take this chance, Brienne. Ser Jaime loves you. If he did this act today, he did it to protect you.”

“And his children,” Brienne said, softly. “Jaime loves many people.”

“Including you.”

The wind blew through the garden and it chilled the effect of the shimmering sun. Flower petals, barely petals at all - it was too early for true flowers - flew and danced in the air. Many of the petals were caught up in Brienne’s fair hair, tangled and weaving through until it looked as if Brienne did it purposefully. Sansa hid a smile while Brienne removed them, looking too tired for japes and flowers. “I do not understand why he offers his hand to me. Why he’s trying to do this - I’m not made for a marriage bed,” Brienne said so sadly that it nearly broke Sansa’s heart.

Sansa grabbed Brienne’s hand. “You are strong and brave and good,” Sansa said, “and Ser Jaime has been the only one to understand that worth.” After a pause, Sansa added, “Well, perhaps Ser Hyle too,” and was rewarded with Brienne’s grimace. “He is gone though, off to marry some other lady as pretty as summer and perhaps just as sweet, but that matters little. You never loved Ser Hyle. You said no to him many, many times - you told me so. Ser Jaime has only asked you this once and you have yet to say no to him. Doesn’t that mean something?”

“I cannot believe _you_ are counseling me to marry him,” Brienne said. It took a minute to realize Brienne was smiling - that she was _japing._

Sansa smiled too, relieved. “Will you marry him then?”

The smile disappeared. “I suppose I have to.”

“Don’t look so frightened,” Sansa said, letting go of Brienne’s hand. “I can’t counsel you on the marriage bed, still being a maid myself, but I know you will be fine. You will be home.”

“I will miss you, Lady Sansa,” Brienne said, surprising Sansa by the emotion in her voice. “You remind me very much of your mother and so when I leave you it will be like leaving her again.”

“You did not fail her,” Sansa reassured her. “Arya and I are back together, is that not enough? And Jon is here. He will protect me once you and Ser Jaime leave.”

Brienne shook her head. “I will not leave you just yet, my lady.” She lowered her voice. “I do not trust the Queen to treat you well, especially now.”

Sansa looked around discreetly and saw no one nearby in the gardens. There was a retainer dressed in Tyrell roses not far from them, however, and so Sansa raised her voice enough for him to hear. “The Queen has my family’s love and respect now that she has completed her duty as our Queen in delivering justice to Cersei. I trust that Lady Arya and I can go home soon.”

Brienne’s expression didn’t falter. She knew what game Sansa was playing. “I shall leave you to it, my lady,” Brienne said.

Sansa smiled. “You should tell Ser Jaime the news tomorrow. Let him rest today.”

Brienne hesitated but then nodded. “I will, my lady.”

After Brienne left, Sansa walked the gardens alone. It was strange to see the flower buds popping out of the dark soil. One flower, in particular, reminded Sansa of Cersei’s fallen head, _gruesomely golden and red_ , and so she had to look away, not eager to relive that memory.

She touched her throat and wondered if she deserved Cersei’s fate as well. She did kill Littlefinger. She did wish for Joffrey’s death. She doomed her family when she went to Cersei. Perhaps Ser Jaime’s sword should have fallen against her own neck.

She shook away the dark thoughts as best she could, deciding to stop and speak to the Tyrell retainer she had seen earlier, hoping that a conversation would distract her.

To her surprise, it was no retainer at all, but Garlan Tyrell, the second son of Lord Mace Tyrell. “Lady Sansa,” he greeted with a wide smile and a short bow. A few years ago, Sansa would have fallen for the courtesies he gave, but she saw the dark circles under his eyes and remembered the loss of his wife Leonette. “Ser Garlan the Gallant,” Sansa smiled back genuinely. Ser Garlan had always been kind to her... _even when the rest of the Tyrells abandoned me to my fate_. “I did not know you were here.”

“I came for the trial about a week ago, although for a moment it seemed as though the trial would never happen. It took your influence for the trial to occur,” he said. “So I am grateful for it, I would not have wanted to wait much longer, I’m eager to go home again.”

Sansa blushed prettily, the way she knew he expected her to. Years ago, when he had first known her, the blush would have been natural. “I only wanted justice for my family. But if you were here, why did you not read your Grandmother’s letter to the court?”

Ser Garlan laughed. “Grandmother wanted the boy to do it. Plus, not many have recognized me since I came and I thought I ought to leave it as such. I shall be meeting with the Queen in two days, however. She has not agreed to meet with me yet, too busy arranging beheadings.”

Sansa wondered about this but before she could ask, Ser Garlan spoke again. “I hear you are now Lady Stark once more?”

“I was always truly Lady Stark,” she replied primly.

“Did Lord Tyrion treat you ill?” Ser Garlan asked, frowning. “I always hoped your marriage would be happy despite its beginnings.”

Sansa shook her head. “Of course not. But I have a duty to my family, to my people, and since we married under duress, it was not fair to either of us.”

“I see.” Ser Garlan looked at her strangely, while rubbing his dark beard. It was much longer than it had been before. He almost looked like a Maester in a mummer’s show. “I suppose you do not need my grandmother to rescue you now.”

“I do not need anyone to rescue me now,” Sansa said, gently, hoping he wasn’t saying what she thought. “I am quite well suited to being a Lady Paramount on my own terms.”

“Unless your brothers are found?”

“Unless that, of course,” Sansa said. _How did he know about Rickon?_   Who is spying for them? “I would be Regent for them, in that case. I do not plan on leaving the North again once I am there, Ser Garlan. I miss Winterfell as much as you miss Highgarden.”

If Ser Garlan was surprised by her frankness, he didn’t show it. “I understand, my lady. Come, let us walk through the gardens as friends. I would like to hear of your time since your escape from the evil King Joffrey.”

He said it in a way that made Sansa laugh and take his arm. “I suppose it is of little harm,” Sansa said. “Most know the tale already.”

“Is it a tale or a truth?”

“You will have to listen and try to figure it out, Ser.”

* * *

When she found her way back to her rooms, alone and without the mirthful facade of Ser Garlan, she was relieved that Jon was already inside.

“Where have you been?” he asked her when she closed the door, looking tired. “I have been looking everywhere for you.”

“Not the gardens, I suppose?” Sansa asked. “For that is where I’ve been all day.”

“With who?”

“Lady Brienne and then Ser Garlan Tyrell,” she added, raising her eyebrows at him in significance. He didn't blink. “The Tyrells want a marriage, just as they did before. Ser Garlan barely hinted at the prospect, he might as well have stated it outright.”

Jon’s jaw clenched. It oddly reminded Sansa of Stannis and almost made her laugh. “Jon, it will be fine,” she said. “Ser Garlan was merely testing the waters and he is a kind man. Arya could not do better.”

“Arya will marry no one, you know this,” Jon said. “Especially not yet.”

“I agree with you on that,” Sansa said, weary. “There is no hurry.”

“I wondered when the men would come to look for your hand now that you’ve been freed of Tyrion,” Jon said. “It was only a matter of time... I’m surprised it took this long.”

“I assure you it’s not my hand they want,” Sansa lied. 

Jon ignored it. “Neither of you will marry anyone south of the Neck,” Jon said, getting up from his seat to look out the window. “The Northern lords deserve our trust and thanks.”

Sansa felt a prickle of annoyance and was quite glad Jon could not see it. “I will pick my own husband, thank you. You are not my brother, you are my cousin.”

“And King,” Jon turned back to remind her, but there was a smile on his lips, tempering his words. “I know, Sansa. But -”

“But nothing,” she said, angry at his dismissive tone. “Until Bran and Rickon are found, I am the Lady Paramount of the North. I will choose who I marry.” An unexpected amount of tears welled behind her eyes and she hid her face from Jon, busying herself with a pile of books, putting the books back on the shelves they belonged to. _Everyone else has chosen who I marry_ , she thought, _it is time that I choose my own husband._

Jon said nothing as she organized the books. It was only when she finished that he spoke again. “I agree, Sansa. I would like you and Arya to choose your own marriages. But you cannot be selfish about it -”

Sansa was stung by the accusation. “I would never be selfish about it! Not even Robb chose his wife selfishly. He was thinking of you!”

Jon stared. _He was surprised_ , she realized. “What do you mean?”

Sansa sunk down into a chair, feeling stiff and sore from all the walking. “Why else would Robb choose to marry a girl like Lady Jeyne Westerling? He married her because he slept with her - he was afraid she’d birth a bastard and he did not want a bastard’s life for his child.”

Jon’s eyes did not leave hers. “You led a bastard’s life, didn’t you?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, trying not to think of Littlefinger. It pained her to think of him. “I had freedom as Alayne. I would not have been able to stand up to the Queen if I had not once been Alayne.”

“Would that fate have been terrible for Robb’s child?”

Sansa couldn’t answer that. She wished that Robb had behaved selfishly and ignored Lady Jeyne after he bedded her. Perhaps he would still be alive. “I think he was worried for Lady Jeyne’s repute as well.”

Jon sighed. “I wish he had lived.”

The tears she had been able to hide before slowly fell onto her cheeks now. “I miss him.”

“Come,” Jon said. “Let’s find Arya. I am sure she has found some sort of secret tunnel again and I’m not sure how pleased the Queen will be about that.”

Sansa laughed, almost choking on her tears, but was unable to voice any coherent thought.

Jon helped her up and kissed her forehead. “It will be all right, Sansa,” he said, his voice warm and comforting, like being under a blanket in Winterfell. “We will be able to go home soon.”

“You must let me know if there is anything I can do to help you,” Sansa said, reaching out to touch his cheek but he moved before she could. She blinked but he spoke too quickly before she could wonder why he moved.

“Let’s find Arya,” he said and she smiled back, trying to ignore her fears. “She will need us soon.”

Sansa agreed and allowed Jon to loop her arm through his while they walked. She wished, at times, that there was a Kingsguard still. It felt strange for a King not to be followed by knights of honor, but she knew Jon was soon not to be King any longer if he had his wish.

She worried, though, that his wish would hurt them.

“Is Stannis still hoping to marry Queen Daenerys?” she asked in a whisper while they walked, smiling politely at any courtiers they passed by.

“If I do not, yes,” Jon said, just as quietly. “He is her heir after me through his grandmother Rhaelle Targaryen - it is how King Robert was able to take the throne by law, not just conquest. It would be an easier transition if he married her.”

“Jon,” Sansa sighed as they reached Arya’s door. “Why don’t you wish to marry her?”

Her cousin said nothing, only nodding at the door. Sansa knocked and Arya appeared, almost as if she was waiting for them. “What do you need?” Arya asked, looking between Sansa and Jon with concern.

Sansa swept into the room, trying to ignore her sister’s worried face.  Jon closed the door behind her and it was only then that she spoke. “I am asking Jon why he won’t marry the Queen.”

Jon’s face was puckered and drawn. “You shouldn’t speak of this,” he warned.

Sansa was not sympathetic. “Jon, this affects all of us. I know you do not wish to be King and if that is all it is, I understand. I even understand if you just hate this wretched place. But we must figure this out together.”

Arya’s eyes widened. “I don’t understand why you don’t want to be King. You would be the greatest King who had ever lived.”

Sansa agreed but knew it mattered little to Jon... and Jon being King would endanger them all. “Is it just that, Jon?”

“I can’t marry her,” he said. “She’s not -” But he couldn’t finish his thought, he looked too deep in thought.

“She isn’t what?” Arya asked. Sansa too was curious.

When Jon spoke again, his voice was cautious. “It isn’t love that I lack for her - she is my aunt,” he said. “But I - we are not good matches for each other. There will be seven kingdoms in the bedchamber with us so we must understand each other. But we do not. I do not know if we are too similar or too dissimilar but we are not suited. I am worried the realm will fall apart if we marry.”

“That matters little in politics,” Sansa said, trying not to sound bitter. 

Jon only sighed. "It is not selfishness - I am thinking of you two as well. I will be of more use if I am in Winterfell, helping you." 

 _That did not answer why he would not marry the Queen_ , Sansa thought. Arya pursed her lips. “So Stannis will be King?”

Jon shrugged. “That is what I would hope, he would be a great King if not a _good_ one, but I do not understand the mind of our Queen. I think she is afraid in her new circumstances - she is not much older than Sansa, after all, and a crown is a heavy burden to bear.”

Sansa remembered the days she longed for a crown. “I would not wish that burden on anyone,” she said. “I will try to be more forgiving towards the Queen now that Cersei Lannister has had justice.”

Arya shook her head. “Justice would have been dragons.”

Jon sighed. “It is of no matter. She is dead and gone. We are left with the remnants of her decisions and now _we_ must pick up the pieces.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it's unclear why Jon won't marry Dany in this chapter, it'll be better explained in some upcoming chapters. I also hope this chapter clarifies the question of Stannis' status re: inheritance of the Seven Kingdoms.


	14. Daenerys II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany hears out a subject.

**DAENERYS**

* * *

 

Daenerys lifted her skirts and sighed as the water danced upon her toes. The cool water, so different from the hot baths she had once dipped into, made goosebumps crawl up from her feet to her arms. It was strange to feel so light when not two days ago, she watched Cersei Lannister’s head fall off her neck and onto the dirty streets of King’s Landing.

 _Jaime Lannister had done it._ To prove something to his Queen? Perhaps he had been told by one of the others that she’d kill everyone he’d had ever held dear - that she would burn the Westerlands to the ground if he didn’t. Dany did not care to know the truth of it for truly it did not matter. The Mad Queen was dead and that was what mattered.

The ceremony was quick and, according to Jaime Lannister’s supposed whore who muttered it to Lady Sansa as they walked back ( _it appeared that Lord Varys’ birds were of_ **_some_ ** _use_ ), painless for the Mad Queen Cersei, which is why the Kingslayer agreed to do it in the first place.

Or should he now be called the Queenslayer? Or kinslayer? It was all the same to be sure. He was cursed by the gods thricefold and it would not due to have him linger in her court for much longer.

_Perhaps I should have killed the Mad Queen myself. Then there would have been no qualms._

Jaime Lannister was truly a problem. Dany should have killed him too when he first showed up in front of her, an old golden lion of a man, the murderer of her father but... she had not. Some believed that she was caught up in his pretty looks, but it was not that, _not really._ If that were the case she’d have a masque made of his face before she had him burned alive by her dragons.

No, it was his tale of her father that spun him away from execution.

It was a mistake she would not make next time.

* * *

_The Maid of Tarth has agreed to serve Stannis and found herself a match_ , Varys told her in a hushed whisper as soon as she entered the small council chambers.

 _Thanks the gods_ , Dany thought, grateful that the wait was over. The last few days had been so long and dreary it was as if winter had come again - it was cheering to hear good news at last.  Especially since the ugly lady in mail did not have much longer to make a decision. “She is not asking for my help to find her a husband?” Dany asked her Master of Whisperers, surprised at this. _Who would willingly agree to marry the ugliest maid in the Seven Kingdoms? I thought I would have to order Ser Jorah to marry her._ Men did not see kindness and loyalty so they would not see Brienne’s worth as she did.

“She wants to tell you herself.” Varys’ eyes were twinkling and mirthful.

Dany misliked it.

“Is she attempting to marry someone she should not?” _Who would marry her,_ she wondered again.

“That will be up to you, my Queen, not me.”

Dany hated the powdered man who had once worked with Ser Jorah to kill her, but Varys was too helpful to lose. “Bring her into the small chambers then. I would like to hear this.”

Jon was already in the chambers looking over papers, seated in the chair next to hers. He once spoke of bringing in a different chair for his seat - one made of weirwood, but that was months ago, when Jon had been resigned to his duty as King. _Now it was different - my nephew will never be King._

Dany wondered how much longer they’d be keeping up the pretense. She never should have agreed to marry him in the first place, but... _peace was in reach at the time._ _There had been no other way._ Not with the proof the crannogman brought about Jon’s heritage. And she had hoped he would bow down to her in marriage. But the trick with the trial proved he would not.

Jon would be a true King if they married. He would be a man with more power than she could ever have - he would not be a simple consort to a Queen. He could not for the noble families would never allow it.

The nobility would overtake her and remind her that she was born a woman and that Jon was a man - much stronger than she could ever be. Jon wouldn’t mean to do it - but he would win the game of thrones by virtue of his manhood and her lack of it.

Stannis, however, was misliked by everyone in the Seven Kingdoms.

He would not be able to consolidate power or influence the way Jon would and did. And if Jon was out of the picture that meant he would be ruling as Regent for Rickon Stark, or helping Lady Sansa do so, and he would obey her the way all Starks obeyed their Kings since the Kneeler.

_Save King Joffrey... and Mad King Aerys._

_Both tyrants_ , she reminded herself, although she misliked thinking of her father as such. _I am not my father, I will not be cruel. I will be just and when I can, I shall be merciful. And I will marry if I must although I mislike it_ . _But I need the alliances, I need the vision of stability, even if no child would ever again bloom inside me._

But no one needed to know that yet, even if Jon suspected the truth.

She told him too much when they fought against the White Walkers in the dead of night. He could easily hurt her if he wished and so she was grateful for his disinterest in ruling and games. Jon smiled at her now and bowed his head a fraction when she sat down. She smiled back. _I wish I could love you, nephew. I wish we could marry and live happily - but neither of us want that for we know it will not happen. We are dragons of ice and fire._

Lady Brienne entered the room after Dany situated herself on the seat, her flushing face further marring her sallow looks. “I hear you have good news for us, my lady,” Dany said to the older girl. “Please share it for we need cheer.”

The dress Lady Brienne wore was ill-fitting on such a large lady, the poor dress barely reached the girl’s wrists. Dany wondered who made it. It would not do for a Lady to look so terrible in her court - especially in her presence. “I do,” Lady Brienne said, her face solemn. “I have agreed to serve Tarth.”

“And Lord Stannis?” Jon asked. Dany looked towards him, almost amused at his defence of the Stormlord.

Lady Brienne seemed to be struggling to speak. “Yes, if it pleases you both. I have no wish to hurt the Seven Kingdoms and if my... _servitude_ towards... Lord Stannis saves us from more troubles, I will serve him.”

“Good,” Dany said, satisfied. “Now, I hear you have also found a husband who will help you provide heirs.”

Lady Brienne somehow turned even redder - her flushed skin illuminated her bright, blue eyes. “I have, your Grace.”

“Who?”

The girl looked down. “Ser Jaime.”

Dany couldn’t have heard correctly. “Who?”

“Ser Jaime Lannister, your Grace.”

“Does he know this?” Ser Jorah asked, amusement laced in his words.

Lady Brienne looked back up, her eyes flashing. “Yes.”

Dany didn’t know what to say. She had not expected this in the least. She was hoping to encourage Ser Jaime to go to the Wall or perhaps even to serve the Starks at Winterfell far, far away from the Red Keep and the Westerlands, but...

_Were the singers right? Were they in love?_

Jon spoke for her. “I am pleased to hear it,” he said. “You and my cousin Lady Sansa have spoken well of him. He seems a changed man since I last knew him and I believe that credit is due to you, my lady.”

Lady Brienne ducked her head again. “Thank you, your Grace.”

“But...” Dany started to stay, but was unsure of what to say at all. She coughed instead, hoping that Jon would speak again.

He did. “When and where will you be married?”

Lady Brienne opened her mouth, but Dany spoke first. “They will be married here, to be sure. A quick betrothal as well, so you can move home to Tarth to start the rebuilding.”

“That does seem to be a good idea,” Jon replied, sounding almost amused by her interruption. “Do you agree, Lady Brienne? It is to be your wedding, after all.”

Dany was stung by that. _I am her Queen_ , she wanted to tell Jon, but said nothing, watching Lady Brienne’s face instead.

Lady Brienne was stoic, however, and showed nothing of what she thought in her blue eyes. “I will do as my Queen commands,” she said.

“Thank you,” Dany said, drawing herself up, furious that Jon undermined her. “You are excused now.”

Brienne bowed instead of curtsied before she left the room. It was only moments after that Dany whirled on her nephew. “How dare you speak like that to me, _your Queen,_ in front of our subjects!”

Jon’s eyes were cold. “It is her wedding. To a man she does not love. I wanted her to have some input, your Grace.”

“She must be married here so we know it is not a farce!”

“And why must it be so quick?”

“Because what if she already carries his child? For all we know the rumors are true!”

Jon snorted. “Sansa spent months with them and she said they did nothing of the sort with each other. She is a close friend of Brienne and says that the Maid of Tarth is just that - a maid.”

Ser Jorah, who was still behind them, spoke. “I agree with _King_ Jon here, my Khaleesi. The woman will be lucky to bear one child with the Kingslayer. They are friends and comrades in arms, nothing more, no matter what the singers sing.”

Jon looked annoyed at Ser Jorah’s intrusion but could not speak out for Lord Varys spoke first. “I would not go that far, Ser Jorah,” the Master of Whisperers said, a small smile on his face. Dany hated that smile. “But, if it alleviates your worries, your Grace, I can assure you that they have not bedded one another. Sharing bedrolls, yes, speaking for long hours, yes, but copulating has yet to occur. I suspect the Maid of Tarth is truly that still - a maid, just as King Jon says.”

“She may forever be one,” Ser Jorah snorted. “The Kingslayer won’t share a bed with anyone he isn’t related to.”

“You should be wary of saying this to two Targaryens,” Jon said, his eyes dark as he looked at Ser Jorah, “who are to be married.”

 _Not for much longer_ , Dany wanted to remind him, but her nephew knew this. He just misliked Ser Jorah for reasons she did not quite understand. “Enough,” she said before Ser Jorah could open his mouth. “The state of their marriage is not our business. Ensuring they get married is all that matters. Ensuring she stays loyal to Stannis is all that matters. Ensuring that Tarth is rebuilt is all that matters.”

“The Kingslayer will be beyond your grasp at Tarth, Khaleesi,” Ser Jorah reminded her.

Dany shook her head. “Lord Stannis hates the Kingslayer and so I am sure that Ser Jaime will not rest easy.”

“He is still under investigation,” Lord Varys reminded her. “So should we not postpone the wedding?”

 _All of these infuriating men._ “Leave me,” she ordered. “Now.”

“Khaleesi -”

“Now,” she repeated.

They finally did as she bid, even Jon, who took his papers with him. She wished he had not - she wanted to see what he was working on when she was not there. Were they things of importance or just the musings of a bastard son?

Dany sat there in silence, wondering about marriage. If the Maid of Tarth wished to marry a man cursed - a man who was an oathbreaker as well as a kinslayer, now that he executed his own sister, then that was Lady Brienne’s failing, not hers.

But such talk of marriage - especially a public marriage like Lady Brienne’s to Ser Jaime - well, that would lead to talk of her own.

And she would not marry Jon.

 _He would take everything. He would take my home. My brother’s son would destroy everything I fought for._ Dany thought over the whispers she heard when they all thought she wasn’t listening. Not many liked her here - she was seen as a foreign interloper, just as she was seen in Meereen. And Meereen had not ended well for her.

Perhaps her idle thoughts of matching her nephew with his cousin needed to become more than that if she truly wanted to end the discussion of marriage. Stannis could be held off for a longer while yet - his ties to the Targaryen bloodline were thin. A Targaryen grandmother was no match for her wishes.

And she was so very tired of wedding. Bedding she did not mind, she enjoyed bedding _very much_ , but the thought of bedding Stannis was a strange one, although she knew he must have thought of it, despite the whispers that he was incapable of any feeling. He was a man and men thought of bedding as much as women did.

If Jon agreed to abdicate his rule - abdicate his right to rule as well as his future children’s right to rule - well then, _maybe_ , Stannis would not mind _not marrying her_.

Perhaps the thought of Shireen as Queen would hold him off _, although if Shireen is to be Queen then I will need to find a match for her as well. A match for Stannis too as he needs a wife to provide him other children - other heirs - for who else could hold the Stormlands but a Baratheon?_

Another thought flew across her mind before she could stop it - _who else could hold the Seven Kingdoms but a Targaryen_ \- a whisper that sounded very much like Viserys said, mocking her.  

She ignored it. _I cannot have any more children but my dragons. And Jon is more Stark than Targaryen. There are no more Targaryens - there will be no more Targaryens regardless if I marry or not._

But... if she did not marry anyone, would they unite against her? Take the throne away? When she was finally home? She could not confess her inability to bear children, that would only alarm them to her strange nature - would that be a sign of more madness and curses?

Dany shook her head. She would decide if she would marry Stannis later. For now, she had to deal with _Jon._

A Jon who successfully undermined her without meaning to was much more dangerous than a Stannis who attempted to undermine her. For when finally Jon realized his power and used it against her, she was doomed. Cersei Lannister would have been languishing in the cells for many more years if Jon had not spoken up against her with the help of his cousin.

It would be good to see the back of all the Starks.

They were the ones who cursed the Seven Kingdoms - not she.

_Not the Targaryens..._ _not me._


	15. Arianne II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arianne meets the mummer's dragon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been so excited to post this chapter and, although I probably should have waited to post it, I said screw it so I hope you guys enjoy the chapter!

 

**ARIANNE**

* * *

 

Highgarden was what the singers promised and more. Beautiful with towering white spires that were surrounded by a moat filled with flowers, it made the Dornishmen with her grumble and it made Arianne feel ill at ease.

This feeling did not cease once she was inside of the castle.

Greeted by the Lady of Thorns herself, Arianne wondered if meeting with the Tyrells was such a good idea. _Perhaps my Father was right_ , she thought and then was ashamed. She was a woman grown - she should not worry over what her father thought.

“Come to see the boy, have you?” the old woman asked while peering at Arianne. When Arianne only nodded, Lady Olenna laughed. “Speak, girl. I’m not deaf, only old.”

“Yes, I’ve come to see your prisoner,” Arianne said, feeling quite ill-footed. The old woman seemed to speak in tongues.

“Which prisoner is that? We still have Tommen here, the sweet boy that he is, Cersei Lannister may be burning in Seven Hells now that her trial is finished - killed by her own brother, can you imagine? - but her living children surely won’t. I have only heard wonderful things about the boy’s sister.”

“Myrcella is a good girl,” Arianne said, trying to keep her gaze hard.

Lady Olenna didn’t seem to care what expression crossed Arianne’s face as she was too busy ordering servants to bring them tea ( _“Quickly, quickly now!”_ ). The servants fled their sight, _probably eager to get away from their mistres_ s, and it was only then that Lady Olenna spoke to Arianne again. “Once Myrcella was a good princess - now she is only a good _girl._ Time truly does change everything,” Lady Olenna sighed although Arianne sensed the sincerity was a mummery.

Arianne was tiring of Lady Olenna and she knew tea would not help her aches and pains. The ride was long and they avoided most other noble houses once they passed the mountains. It had taken weeks of sailing and riding to get to Highgarden and her patience was thinning faster than a fraying rope. “You know who I mean to see, Lady Olenna, or else the truth of your reputation has also faded away with time.”

Lady Olenna’s teeth showed when she smiled. Only a few were missing despite the woman’s advanced age. “Yes, yes, I shall see you won’t play any more games. It is a good thing when a woman knows she is done with such childish things. You will see the once-King tomorrow. And no - I do not mean my granddaughter’s husband, sweet Tommen was never a true King like this lad. But for now, you should rest, girl. You look older than me.” After a small cackle, Arianne was led away to her rooms by a fair-haired servant.

Arianne felt almost grateful for the old woman’s meddling nature once she saw the rooms she had been given overlooked the gardens. The view was almost as beautiful as her own Father’s Water Gardens and she said so to Lady Margaery at dinner that evening.

“Oh, I am so glad you like it!” the younger girl said, her eyes lighting up. “Willas thought it would be the best room for you and he shall be so pleased to know he was right about this.”

“Where is he?” Arianne asked, curious to see the man she had once childishly loved - despite not knowing him at all. _I had not even met him and yet. . . I tried to marry him. Why... I was always a foolish child. If only I had remembered that before..._

“The men will not sup with us this evening,” Margaery said, after laughing at one of her pretty cousin’s distracting japes. “Grandmother said that you needed rest and boisterous men provide anything but rest.”

Arianne thought some boisterous men would have given her respite from the coiling words that the Tyrell women spoke to one another It was almost admirable at how well the flowery women dodged from the truth - it was no wonder that Cersei Lannister hated them all. _It’d be easy to hate them_ , Arianne thought, _for they played the game better than I could ever dream._

And yet they lost, for Lady Margaery was simply that. _A lady._ Not a Queen.

And she may never marry again, Arianne thought. It was rumored the Queen was thinking of sending Margaery to the Silent Sisters - for what reason Arianne could not fathom. Sending Tommen to the Wall made sense for many reasons but to send Margaery away...? Margaery should wait to marry, that was true, to ensure no child had been borne of the marriage, but Tommen was still just a child and Margaery had only done her duty to her family.

Perhaps the Tyrells knew of the rumors regarding the Queen’s plan and it was why they wished to align themselves with their once enemy. For there was real love and loyalty shown between the Tyrell women and it seemed some of it was even extended to Tommen, by the way they spoke of the sweet, red-cheeked boy, the same way love and loyalty were shown to his sister in Dorne. Arianne hoped that love and loyalty would be enough to ensure this alliance.

Love, loyalty, and anger towards the Targaryen Queen for ruining their plot. For taking away Quentyn.

_For it all._

* * *

Aegon Targaryen was not what Arianne imagined, although she wasn’t sure she imagined him at all. It was the crown she had been after in her dreams, _not the husband._

He looked up at her when she came into his room, putting down his book to greet her with a nod. “You must be Lady Arianne Martell,” he said.

“You must be the rightful King,” she replied, curtsying.

Aegon smiled at that. “I have heard otherwise.”

She decided to sit across from him, so she could see him better and leaned herself forward on the table so he, in turn, could see her breasts better. His violet eyes didn’t stray although there was enough a twitch in his jaw to suggest he desperately wanted to look. She smiled, amused. _He was no Renly Baratheon then. This will make things easier._ “Your aunt has made many enemies in her short time here. It is said that she will be abandoning the treaties laid out months ago, forsaking your own bastard brother, Jon Snow.”

“She isn’t marrying him?” Aegon asked his brow tense. “How have you heard this?”

“I have my ways,” Arianne replied, wondering how much the Tyrells knew of any of it. Most of it was still secret - she wasn’t even sure if King Jon knew the truth. “And all that matters is that it’s true. She has left the North behind by doing this - and the Riverlands as well. Although I suspect Lord Paramount Tully only wishes to see peace. His lands have seen the worst that war has to offer.”

“I believe every land has now,” Aegon argued. “I myself ruined Tarth and the Ironborn devastated Oldtown.”

Arianne had seen what had been done to Oldtown when they landed. Towers fell, homes burnt, it was amazing that it had not been destroyed. “And the North had the Boltons and the White Walkers.”

“Dragons in King’s Landing,” Aegon said, his eyes flickering with want. _Good_ , Arianne thought. _You should want the dragons. They should be yours._

“You could unite the people,” Arianne told him. “Your aunt is making this fragile peace even more fragile. She is a conqueror, not a ruler.”

“And I am a ruler - not a conqueror,” Aegon said, looking weary. “I failed my men and my people. I cannot conquer this land with war.”

“We won’t need war,” Arianne said, hoping she was right. “We need allies.”

Aegon shook his head. “My aunt is a Targaryen, Lady Arianne. Fire and blood are all she knows. She will win a war even if all the Kingdoms rise up. _She has three dragons._ ”

* * *

Shaken from her conversation with Aegon, it was a surprise to find herself hurried away to Willas Tyrell’s solar. “He wants to meet with you,” was all the servant said, and soon enough she was dumped into the room with all the dignity of a goblet of wine falling to the ground.

She tried to hold herself up high, back straight, but Willas didn’t seem to notice or mind, using his cane to help himself up from his seat and guide her to a wooden chair facing his desk.

But she minded _him_. He was tan (from working outdoors with horses, she surmised as he spoke), handsome, and, much like his Grandmother, had a way of speaking that allowed him not to say anything of importance, which was frustrating as he asked her innocently prodding questions about her conversation with Aegon.

But she held her own, demurring when she could, and flirtatiously smiling when she couldn’t.

It didn’t seem to work well, however. He seemed to see right through her... yet he also smiled at her the way all men did when they realized her intelligence was equal to her looks.

 _Arys Oakheart had smiled like that once_ , she remembered, thinking of the days before the end. The Tyrell heir’s smile was quite different than Arys’ and she was annoyed to find she enjoyed its quirks.

When she had tried to run away to Highgarden with Tyene years before, she knew so little of Willas Tyrell that she had made up her own idea of him based on Oberyn’s descriptions. It was very strange to discover that her childish imaginings were closer to the truth than the rumors of Willas that had landed in Dorne. The men all called the Tyrell heir dull and boring and laughed about how he tended to read instead of fight, ignoring that his crippling injury made it impossible to do anything but read. They did not speak of his charming voice nor his witty eyes - something her younger self had been sure existed.

The younger Arianne had been correct. His brown eyes were indeed witty. And warm. “Why did you tell the Dragon Queen that my cousin was dead?” Arianne asked, trying to disarm him with a shocking question.

It did not work. Willas’ smile did not ebb. “Well,” he drawled, sounding almost exactly like his Grandmother, the Queen of Thorns. Arianne wondered if that was a sign of trouble. “We were quite certain he was dying at the time and afterward we learned enough to believe that it wouldn’t make a difference either way.”

“Then why did you send me the letter?” Arianne’s head was hurting. “And what do you mean?”

“I mean that the boy down the hall is not Aegon Targaryen, but an impostor,” Willas said, his tone so matter-of-fact that it stung. “There is little proof of it, either way, to be true, but you have seen him. Does he look like the portraits of your aunt? Does he look like Rhaegar in any way other than coloring?”

Arianne shook her head. The man who sat before her was mad. He was no dullard - he was a madman. “He is Aegon.” _He has to be._

Willas sighed, sounding almost disappointed in her. “He is not, even if he believes himself to be. Targaryen coloring is easy to find in the whorehouses of Essos. If Oberyn were alive, he’d tell you the same. What difference his parentage makes, I do not know. Our family truly shouldn’t be the ones ruling the Reach, the Florents have a much better claim. Bloodlines and the like are ridiculous - I’m sure half of the houses have been cuckolded at least once. And it might be better for us all if he isn’t a Targaryen King, but just a King.”

It took Arianne a moment to absorb what he said. “Do you mean you support his right to rule despite...”

“Despite the fact I do not believe he is your cousin?” His mirthful eyes were dark. “I do.”

Arianne composed herself, hoping that Willas did not find her unsteady. _How can this be_ , she wondered. _Did he truly want to throw over the idea of nobility to suit his own ends?_

If he did, well, even her younger self would not have imagined this.

“Why do you distrust the Queen?” she asked instead of her true thoughts.

“Because she is the Mad King’s Daughter,” he replied, “and by the look of it, has very little sense of ruling. Conquering - she is the Queen of that and dragons, but ruling? Diplomacy? Understanding the Seven Kingdoms? It is highly likely that someone will kill her before the year is out.”

Arianne shook her head. “Then the bastard Jon Snow or Stannis will rule.”

“As you well know, it is more likely to be Stannis than Jon Snow and Stannis has not endeared himself to us Tyrells.” Willas’ smile turned into a grimace. “Nor have we endeared ourselves to him. He will begrudge us our support of Renly. And then begrudge us our support of the Lannisters after he had Renly murdered.”

Some might have wondered at their supporting the younger Baratheon brother’s right to rule, but now, after hearing Willas’ thoughts on the noble houses of Westeros, it wasn’t very shocking at all. “Do you think he will punish you?”

“Mayhaps,” Willas said. “But I’d rather not take the chance.”

“And you think Aegon will not punish you for keeping him a hostage?”

Willas smiled and grabbed her hand. She kept still, hoping he could not sense her tension. “I promise you, he begrudges us nothing. You have spoken to him. You have seen him. We could have killed him, mayhaps we should have. He knows the risk we take in keeping him alive and well-fed.”

She thought over this while removing her hand from his. “And they all say you’re dull,” she finally said.

Willas only smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... what do you guys think of this Willas? ;)
> 
> Also, the new ship has been added. As always, I add ships as they come into the story.


	16. Tyrion II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A betrothal begins.

**TYRION**

* * *

 

Jeyne Westerling was a slight, simple looking girl that murmured courtesies more quietly than Sansa ever did. Tyrion was actually quite disappointed in Robb Stark. _This girl was worth losing a kingdom over? She is nothing compared to my other wives - Sansa and Tysha would only grow in beauty beside this girl._

He kissed the top of her right hand when she offered it, although she stiffened. “My lord,” she said after he let go, her voice softer than her hands. He tried not to scare her with his scowl. _How must I look compared to the Young Wolf? I’m the evil dwarf that the young, handsome King is supposed to save her from. Her song is backwards._

“I hope your journey here was not too unbearable,” Tyrion said, hating the flash of relief he saw on her pretty face when their hands no longer touched.

But not as much as he hated the cruelty and greed that lurked on her mother’s face. “Oh, it was no trouble, my lord, although it seems we have missed much in the last few days,” Lady Sybell said with a terrible smile. She reminded him of a spider, eager to trap everyone in her web of lies and deceit. _Too bad she was terrible at spinning the web._ “But the journey was no trouble at all - not from our home. Nothing could trouble us much after we were ungraciously thrown out of --”

“You were thrown out by my brother,” Tyrion reminded her with a smile, delighting in how the treacherous woman’s face fell. Jeyne’s face, however, grew more interesting, amusement flickering in her brown eyes. _Perhaps Robb Stark saw something I did not._ “It was not your castle to live in, my lady.”

Lady Sybell stood silently, clutching her skirts. It seemed he had outlasted her already. His smile grew. “But you were saying, Lady Sybell?”

“Oh,” the wretched woman swallowed, her hands leaving her skirts behind to wave in the air. “The journey was lovely. The Riverlands are much more peaceful now under the good Queen Daenerys’ reign.”

“Instead of my nephews or my sister?” Tyrion tutted. “My lady, you must be more careful in your speech.”

Lady Jeyne was biting her lip, whether it was from amusement or if she was resisting calling out Tyrion’s sins, he could not decipher. He hoped she was hiding a smile. _Can I have peace at last in a marriage? Sansa never gave me any peace - only cold judgment. Perhaps now..._

“We are very grateful to be here,” said Lady Eleyna. Tyrion peered at her. The girl shared her looks with her sister Jeyne, although she actually smiled at Tyrion, probably due to her youth. Soon she would learn the world had nothing but hatred for smiles. “And we are grateful that Lord Tully let us pass through his lands unmolested after all that has happened. Lady Jeyne and I hope to write him thanks soon.”

 _Perhaps I was wrong_ , he thought, looking at the younger girl with more care. Perhaps she would outlast them. Perhaps she was like Sansa, hiding daggers in her smiles. “You may do so, of course. I have to write him myself and I can send your letters along the same raven.” _And read them before I send them._

Lady Jeyne frowned but Lady Eleyna actually curtsied in thanks. _She should meet Sansa, if Sansa did not wish to murder all the Westerlings for their part in the Red Wedding,_ he thought. He wondered how Sansa did feel about Jeyne. He never thought to ask her. _Jon would have asked_ , he thought. “Most appreciative, my lord,” Lady Eleyna said with another smile.

Lady Sybell curtsied as well, although it seemed more disgruntled. “Yes, thank you, my Lord Hand..”

“Wine?” he asked, tired of standing. Ever since the frigid fight against the wights and White Walkers near the ancient Wall, it hurt more than ever to stand on his legs for too long. He could abide it long enough and the pain alleviated when he walked, but standing in one place made them ache. Tyrion knew he should ask a maester for aid, perhaps that fat friend of Jon’s who smiled too much, but the thought of the weakness getting out held no interest for him.

The three women agreed and Tyrion gestured at his new servant, some pockmarked man who was missing three of his fingers ( _a spy of Varys_ , Tyrion assumed), to fetch the wine as he pulled out his own seat. Relief swarmed his nerves as he sat down and he watched as the ladies relaxed as well in their cushioned chairs.

“What kind of wine is it?” Lady Jeyne asked when they were settled.

“Dornish Red,” Tyrion replied. “Had it sent from Sunspear. As you can imagine, that is you’d be able to imagine it if you knew Cersei, the wine stores here are dreadfully parched.”

Lady Eleyna tittered while Lady Sybell pasted on a smile. Lady Jeyne did not bother. “I have heard a great many things of your sister,” she said instead. “I am glad she is dead.”

Lady Sybell’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. “Jeyne!” she said, raising a hand as if to strike her. Lady Elenya only looked away, hiding her gaze from both Tyrion and her mother.

Tyrion supposed he should intervene and did so right as the servant came back to pour drinks, shooing him off before the servant dared to speak up.

It was times like these that Tyrion missed quiet, stuttering Pod. But that boy was Sansa’s now - living in Winterfell far away from all of this, safe from the machinations of his betters. “It is all right,” he said. “I am also rather delighted that my sister is dead.”

Lady Sybell’s hand fell to her lap so quickly it was as if it had never been in the air at all. Jeyne didn’t blink or smile at her mother’s retreat. She only said, “I am also glad you killed your father.”

Tyrion stared into her eyes. It was time for the truth of their meeting to come out. “Does that mean you are willing to marry a kinslayer? As well as a Lannister?”

Her brown eyes flickered with something. Regret? Sadness? Love for a lost spouse? _Or was that what she saw in my own eyes_ ? _Tysha..._ “I cannot.”

“Jeyne!” her mother whispered, although since Tyrion could hear, he wasn’t sure why Lady Sybell bothered. He raised his eyebrow. “What are you doing!” she demanded of her daughter.

“It has not been two years yet,” Jeyne clarified. “I have two more months. I swore a vow to your brother.”

Tyrion suddenly remembered. _Stupid Jaime._ “But after those months?”

“I intend to serve the Mother.”

He opened his mouth to say something cutting and cruel but was interrupted before he could even think of the words.

“Jeyne.” Tyrion was surprised to see it was Lady Elenya who spoke, instead of Lady Sybell. “You must do this, Jeyne.”

Jeyne shook her head. “I cannot.

“You must marry him,” the younger girl said, her smile gone from her face. She looked older than Jeyne now.  “I cannot, I have been thrown off into the wilderness, to be married off to a - _a Frey,_ our own brother’s murderer, because of your mistake.”

Tyrion winced as Jeyne’s wrath became known. “My mistake? You mean mother’s mistake. The entire idea was hers. _Make the wolf king yours_ , _Jeyne,_ she said to me. And I did. And I loved him, I adored him, I worshipped him, and tried to make him proud... even though his direwolf frightened me. I was just a girl in love with the Young Wolf and he loved me.” Tyrion was sure her voice would break, but it did not. “And our mother poisoned me for my obedience! Poisoned me so I could not bear sons for my King, _my love_. She even made sure I would not die as his side as I would have wanted if I had known the truth. But my brother died because of her. Raynald is gone forever because of her.” She did not cry as she spoke, nor did her voice waver. Tyrion almost admired her for it. “Mother is the mistake.”

Lady Sybell said nothing to defend herself. _Perhaps she had learned it would not be welcome here._

Lady Elenya, however, was not afraid. “I do not care, Jeyne. Who else would marry us except for Freys, paupers, thieves, and rapers? We need husbands, sister, who are more than us. Who are better than us - us! the children of a wretched plot - and I cannot have a good marriage - I am married to a house as cursed as ours, so you must succeed. You will be the Lady Paramount of the Westerlands, Jeyne. You must be.”

Tyrion wished Lady Elenya was older and not already betrothed. He would rather marry her than this girl who was in love with a dead King. She was much more sensible than her sister. “I can provide your family with much, although not _too much_ ,” he told Jeyne. “Westeros does not look kindly on your house so I could never give too much.”

“Why do you even ask me this question?” Jeyne said, turning her fury on him. “We should be a dead house.”

Tyrion raised his hands in defense. “The Queen suggested it.”

That straightened all of their backs. “What?” Lady Sybell asked, her mouth sagging.

Tyrion smirked, amused at their surprise. “The Queen believes that we can heal the Westerlands together.”

Jeyne frowned. “She knows nothing of me.”

Tyrion sighed and decided to taste his wine. _Not as sweet as promised._ “She knows you were Robb Stark’s queen and, as a favor to his family, would like to see you positively situated. I am a kinslaying dwarf lacking a nose who rules over the entirety of Westerlands without a wife at my side... for no sane lady would marry me. I am a monster,” he said, quirking his lips as he did so. Jeyne did not smile and so he sighed before continuing, “The Queen decided it to be the perfect solution and I think she may be right.”

“Why did you rid yourself of Sansa Stark?” Lady Sybell asked.

Tyrion was tempted to say cruel untruths about the girl, but Jeyne had probably heard about Sansa from her beloved King before he was murdered at a wedding. So he settled on the truth. “It was not a marriage either of us wanted to enter, my lady.”

“Much like this one then,” Jeyne muttered.

He almost liked her for it. “Not quite, my lady. Lady Sansa did not even know she was marrying me until the day of the wedding. There was no warning and she was a hostage in my father’s care. You all are well aware of how generous my father’s care is, I’m sure.”

Jeyne, who had been staring at him, looked away. Her sister merely coughed politely as if trying to bring the room back to sense, while Lady Sybell started drinking from her goblet of wine. She drank so quickly that at once Tyrion thought of his sister.

He didn’t lie before to Jeyne.

He was glad Cersei was dead.

The meeting between them ended on a higher note than it started, much to Tyrion’s relief. Due to the Queen’s interference, Jeyne agreed to think over it for one night.

Tyrion was sure, once the girl had her head on straight, that she would agree to the marriage. She’d be a stupid girl if she didn’t. And he thought the girl’s sister might become a kinslayer if Jeyne didn’t agree to the betrothal. That did alleviate some worries as he doubted they wanted another curse on their heads.

Jaime found him in the morning before he could even have his first goblet of ale. “Bronn told me about your soon-to-be wife,” he said.

Tyrion wondered how much Jaime hated him. He also wondered if he hated Jaime still. _Tysha._ “She has yet to accept,” he warned before gesturing for Jaime to sit.

His brother did not, staring at him peculiarly instead. “I have met Lady Jeyne before,” Jaime said. “I did not think she would marry advantageously ever again... I was not even sure if she would be able to marry at all.”

“The Westerlings have the lovely Queen Daenerys to thank for that,” Tyrion explained, wishing Jaime would sit down. His neck ached from looking up at his brother. “And I hear there are congratulations in order for you as well. Someone has finally nabbed the elusive Maid of Tarth.”

Jaime snorted and finally sat down. His left hand rubbed his beard as he spoke. “The Queen had much to do with that as well.”

“I doubt our lovely queen likes Lady Brienne’s choice very much,” Tyrion said, remembering Queen Daenerys’ irate expression when she told him of Lady Brienne’s decision. “I think she would have rather you gone off to the Wall than the Sapphire Isle.”

Jaime smirked and for a moment Tyrion felt as if he had his brother again. The brother who freed him from death. The brother who japed with him. The brother who helped him marry Tysha. “I am sure she wishes that although I’m not sure the Wall would have much of a use for a crippled lion.”

“And what use will your lady wife have for you?”

Jaime snorted. “I’m no eunuch, I’ll leave that role to your Varys and the Queen’s silent army. Where are they, perchance? Hiding under her skirts?”

Tyrion sighed, remembering the headache of Lord Tully’s requests for aid from the Dothraki. He had suggested to the Queen that the Unsullied would be best suited in bringing the Dothraki back from their terrorising activities, although he wasn’t sure if there was a good solution. The best solution at all would have been stopping the Dothraki before they were unleashed on the Riverlands, but Jorah had been the one to suggest that mistake. Tyrion thought the idiotic man was still trying to win his Queen’s favor - as though Daenerys would take such a lowly man for a consort. “The Unsullied are off in the Riverlands dealing with the rest of that terrible horselord lot.” Tyrion looked over at his brother, whose expression dimmed a fraction. “Did we ever find the Hound? I know he was wanted for murder and rape and all sorts of -”

“That wasn’t him,” Jaime said, his voice firm. “Brienne killed the man who wore the Hound’s helm. She heard the true Hound died from an old septon on the Quiet Isle. I went there myself with her later and he repeated the story to me.”

The way Jaime spoke made Tyrion curious. “You didn’t believe him?”

“I believed him as much as I believe anyone now.” _Anyone including me_ , Tyrion thought. For that, he could not blame his brother, although he spoke the truth to Jaime more than anyone else.

“Well, I’m sure the Hound will come out from the shadows soon... if he is alive.”

“Mayhaps,” Jaime said, although he didn’t sound convinced.

A knock on the door disrupted the conversation and when Jaime went to open it the disturbance was revealed to be Lady Jeyne.

By herself.

She blanched at the sight of Jaime but still managed a curtsy. “It is nice to see you, my lord,” she said to him.

Jaime only looked over at Tyrion with raised eyebrows. Tyrion grinned. “You may leave now, Jaime.”

Jaime looked over at Lady Jeyne and only when she nodded in agreement did he close the door behind him. _Does he think me a raper_ , Tyrion fumed. _Have I become a monster to him as well?_

Trying not to show his irritation, he smiled at Lady Jeyne and she smiled back, although her smile did not reach her eyes. He wondered if his smile reached his. “Have you made a decision then, my lady?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, hesitating. “I will agree to marry you after the two months are up.”

Even two months was a long time to wait with no true heirs to the Westerlands, but Tyrion knew there were not many other options. No sane man would allow his daughter to marry him. “Is there anything else?”

“I am not a maid,” she said, startling him. “I know what my duty is in the bedchamber. But I am frightened that my mother’s potions will have harmed my ability to conceive.”

Tyrion doubted they did. “I am sure it was just moon tea,” he said. “Have you asked your mother?”

“As if I could trust a word out of her mouth,” Lady Jeyne sneered, but then collected herself, placing a prim smile on her face. Tyrion was amused. “I apologize, my lord, but our relationship is less than cordial now.”

“I see.”

“And for that reason I would like to stay here before we marry. Perhaps I could meet with my future good-sister, the Lady Tarth, and help her prepare for her wedding day.” Tyrion was amused that the Lady Jeyne had already found out the news of Lady Brienne and Jaime - he had not realized it had passed into the ears of the court already. “I would very much like to be of assistance to her.”

Tyrion waved a hand. “Is there anything else?”

She wavered. “Are you not worried that I will be barren?”

“I am more worried you will not come to the bed at all for I will not force you to join me.” _And I will not have you afraid of me. I cannot have another Sansa. I cannot have a wife afraid of me - disgusted by me. I need a wife who could at least pretend to love me in the bedchamber._ He wondered if she saw the desperation in his face.

“I will come to your bed,” she said. “I know my duty. And I understand your generosity. And it is your generosity that I ask for now. Please free my sister from her betrothal. I know it is in your power to do it. Have her betrothed arrested - you are the Queen’s Hand, you have the power, my lord. And he is not a good man - he is a _Frey_ and I am sure he hurt my Ro- brother.”

“You and I have both been married before, my lady,” Tyrion reminded her. “You do not have to hide his name from me. Robb Stark was a good lad when I knew him, although too much like his father to live for very long.”

Lady Jeyne looked as if she had been slapped in the face. “If you speak of him like that I can assure you I will not be willing in any chamber, my lord.”

“And I can assure you I will turn my power against your family if you truly want to play that game,” Tyrion said. _Would I truly do such a thing? I just might._

Lady Jeyne only flinched. “I understand.”

“ _Good._ I will arrange for your sister’s betrothal to be ended in some way - you must give me time, though, my lady.”

She nodded, relief shown on her pretty face. “I apologize for my words before.”

“It is fine,” Tyrion said, feeling sorry for her. “And I think it is good that you will stay in the Red Keep. You should understand this court as we shall be spending much of our time here. It will not be an easy life as the wife of the Hand.”

“I know,” she said. “It was not easy being the wife of a King either.”

 _Especially a rebel king_. “You should speak with Sansa.”

This startled Lady Jeyne. “Lady Sansa? Lady... _Stark_?”

“She is close with your future good-sister and it is better to air... _this_ out before any wedding occurs. Lady Arya has been found and is here as well, if you did not already know, so you should possibly seek out her too. But I’d seek out Lady Sansa first - she was my wife and so she will be able to advise you appropriately.”

“She was Robb’s sister too,” Lady Jeyne said as if Tyrion had forgotten it. As if Sansa didn’t remind him with her cold glances when they were married and her frigid smiles now that they were not.

“She still is,” he corrected. _Is Robb Stark doomed to torment me no matter my lady wife?_ “Even if he is dead.”

Lady Jeyne shook her head. “She will hate me.”

“If she does not hate my brother or myself, she will certainly not hate you.” A thought occurred to Tyrion. “Although... perhaps your mother should leave the Red Keep before Lady Sansa or her sister learns of her presence. I am not sure if my brother’s loose tongue revealed the truth of your mother’s betrayal to Lady Sansa or not, but it’s best to be safe, don’t you think?” Tyrion asked.

Her smile was wide. “I agree, although I hope my sister can attend me?”

“Yes, of course,” he said, surprised by how her smile warmed him. Even his cock felt warm. “Please come to me if you need anything else.”

“I will,” she vowed, her eyes sparkling as she curtsied her goodbyes. “Thank you, my lord. I do not think you know how happy you’ve made me.”

Tyrion smiled at her, pleased with her courtesies. _I’m sure I will know quite well how happy you are in two months._

_...I’m rather looking forward to this marriage._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Jeyne Westerling so much both the canon version and my take on her. She's SO much fun to write and I've been dying to share this chapter with everyone.
> 
> Also I'm unsure if I should add the Jeyne/Tyrion tag because their story arc isn't romantic like the others. I may add it later. Let me know your thoughts!


	17. Arya II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one meets someone and a dog.

**ARYA**

* * *

 The door leading out to the garden was small, bare, and hidden under moss - it was almost a surprise to find a guard behind the door.  “Who are you?” he barked when Arya entered the courtyard, his brow furrowed. His bark was small though and Arya could not be afraid of it after everything she had seen.

“I’m Arya Stark,” she said although wanted to _sing_ her name every time someone asked her who she was -- after years of being _no one_ , being someone was a blessing. He nodded with recognition and let her pass, begging her pardon.

Arya only smiled and headed toward a shady, empty corner where no one would be able to see her practice her footwork.

Needle was hidden under her dress, attached to her leg with wrappings, the sort she used to wear to bind her chest when pretending to be a boy on the way home from Braavos. After killing the Rafford the Sweetling she was left with almost no choice but to become Arya Stark again. The Kindly Man was not kind that day, reminding her that she was _no one_ , telling her that she was no one, until Arya resisted.

“Needle,” she cried out, and that was the moment her service for the Many-Faced God ended. There was no use for a _someone_ there.

And so, Arya drifted.  She knew many talents now, acting, stealing, selling - if she had to, she supposed she could become a courtesan somewhere in Essos, but she thought of Gendry then for some reason and remembered the girl who wanted to ring his bells, and felt sick at the thought.

Arya missed Gendry even now, but knew in her heart that he had to be dead. The Brotherhood without Banners had disappeared and the Riverlands were ravaged and burned, even now there were still been signs of war and disease amongst the land. The people had lost although Arya was going to fix that swiftly as she could.

The only living things that roamed the woods now were the pack of wolves that howled at the moon. When Arya arrived back in Westeros, stealing away on a ship that eventually landed at Crackclaw Point, the pack of wolves were more talked about than even the dragons that flew overhead. The villagers spoke of raising a hunt, but all look much too worn and tired from death and destruction and dragons to think of attempting it, which was good for Arya would have stopped it from happening.

She still dreamed of Nymeria, still felt the mud underneath her paws at night, still wondered if she would ever see her direwolf outside of her dreams again. She prayed for it now - now that almost everyone in her prayers was dead or almost dead. Her dreams of Nymeria were often full of bloody meat. Smoked meat that stuck at her gums, sour meat that upset her stomach, raw flesh that burned her insides like a dip in an icy river. “It’s called warging,” Jon told her when they had a moment alone. She had found him after her training with Lady Brienne one day not long ago and he had looked weary from a day of politics. “You’re with Nymeria.”

“I know that,” she said to him. _Of course I’m with her._ Nymeria never truly left her. But after her talk with Jon, she had sensed something different within her Nymeria dreams. They both knew she was there, they had always known it, but it was something harder and stranger. She didn’t quite understand what it meant and she was too afraid to ask her brother.

For a _brother_ was what Jon was despite his and Sansa’s protests. Their lack of a shared father meant little to Arya. No stupid Rhaegar Targaryen could change that truth. However, she did not dare to call him brother out loud now. He looked too sad when she said it. So Arya solely called him Jon (never “Your Grace” or “King Jon”) which made her brother smile.

Jon was as much her brother as Robb, Rickon, or Bran. She hoped they found Bran soon... and hoped she would recognize Rickon when she saw him once more. He was so young when she had left Winterfell for the Red Keep that it was hard to imagine what he would look like. _I hope he looks like me._ Only Jon looked like her before and now... _now he isn’t my brother._

Jon sent a missive to the islands of Skagos - hoping that they would send back Rickon to Winterfell (where Lord Howland Reed awaited) and had already written Lady Alys Thenn of Karhold for assistance. Her wildling husband would know how to reach the strange islands that were more wildling than Northern. He would find Rickon and send him home. Rickon would probably be home in Winterfell before they got back. Jon had many friends other than Lord Reed helping in Winterfell and hoped to send his friend, Sam, the fat man who had once been Jon’s black brother, up North. “Rickon will be safe,” Jon said and Arya wanted to believe it. Sansa did too, Arya was sure, although her smile was hesitant.

“Perhaps we should leave him be on Skagos until we’re in Winterfell,” Sansa often said when the situation was brought up amongst the three of them, but Jon shook his head.

“There must always be a Stark in Winterfell,” he reminded Sansa, sounding almost like Father. “Winterfell has suffered without a Stark.”

Arya almost reminded him that Winterfell fell when Rickon and Bran were both there, but decided against it. Jon knew this already, of course. She didn’t need to remind him of Theon Greyjoy or the Boltons.

Arya certainly didn’t like being reminded of it. She hadn’t known about the plot to marry Jeyne Poole to Ramsay Snow until Sansa spoke of it offhand one evening as they supped together on quail. The quail was not as delectable as the deer Arya had ate as Nymeria the night before, but still she forced the bite down, remembering the sting of hunger from days not long past. Remembering the Kindly Man and his unkindly actions.

Sansa’s words about Jeyne Poole, however, chased away any interest in food, especially as the true story spun around Arya. _That could have been my fate_.  Jeyne never had been taught how to fight - she was like Sansa, fighting with words and courtesy. Those were weapons Arya had learned from the courtesans in Braavos and from the Kindly Man but still had a hard time understanding and using in the dangerous Red Keep. Braavosi courtesies were a different sort than the stinking words the nobles spoke to one another.

But Jeyne survived the Boltons with Theon’s help, according to Lord Stannis.

Arya was glad.

It was hard to think of Jeyne alone fighting demons by herself. Jeyne couldn’t fight anything without someone helping her -- even in childhood Sansa teamed up with Jeyne to throw snowballs at Arya, it was never just Jeyne.

Arya wasn’t sure if she wanted to include Theon in her prayers. She still wasn’t sure if she wanted Jaime Lannister there either. There were many others who were alive that should be dead but she had learned that she did not want to be the Hand of the God of Death any longer. It was a wearying duty and one that haunted her in the shadows. And when Sansa told Arya the story of their mother’s fate, in soft, tearful whispers Arya became glad she gave up the fight.

Although, she could never truly give up fighting. It was why she trained every morning and evening. It was why Needle was always hidden on her person. She knew at any moment this tentative peace could fracture into pieces of bone and so she had to remember how to defend herself. And Sansa.

And Jon.

She moved side to side with Needle now in the courtyard she once ran in as a child, where she went looking for cats, her arm hoisted high above her, thinking intently of her dancing master and so when a stranger approached her from the side she swerved to strike him with Needle but then... then she _couldn’t._

For it was a stranger she knew very well.

Gendry was in front of her, looking more a bull than he had ever before. Strong and broad with a familiar, stubborn look on his face although a straggly beard hid his mouth. “Milady,” he said, his voice a dark rumble. His bow was as deep as his voice.

Arya hated it. “Don’t bow,” she told him, feeling a need to do something with her hands. She grasped Needle’s hilt tight and Gendry looked at it, amusement hitting his tired features.

_He looks tired._

“I tried not to think of you,” Arya blurted. _Stupid, stupid._ She was a stupid little girl again. _Arya Horse-Face_. Not a woman grown, who had bled and buried men three times the size of her. Not a woman who had bedded for the Kindly Man in Braavos and then gave the Stranger’s Blessing not long after.

 _Would Gendry want to ring my bell?_ She found herself flushing at the thought. “Why are you here?” she barked.

Gendry, who had yet to speak, sighed and rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know. When I got into the Red Keep I asked for you and a fat maester told me where to find you.”

Arya meant what he was doing in King’s Landing but was too confused by his comment. “What?”

“He was called Sam the Slayer by those in his party, by the other men in black,” Gendry said. “Though he didn’t look like much of a slayer to me.”

“Do I?” she asked, annoyed. She liked Sam. He was good - someone who Jon loved and trusted. “Because I’ve killed many men.”

“As have I, milady.”

Arya glared. “Stop calling me that.”

He licked his lips and shook his head. “I have to call you that. You’re Lady Stark otherwise.”

“That’s Sansa,” she corrected, pushing away the frightening thought. “I’m just Arya.”

“Just Arry,” Gendry said. A small, sad smile appeared on his face. _He looks handsome_. “There was a time I never thought I would see you again. I thought the Hound killed you then, but I know now he didn’t...”

“I killed him,” she said, although she wasn’t sure that was true. She couldn’t remember what had happened after she left him to die and never heard anyone else speak of him so she supposed she had to have. He had to have died because of her. “I did.”

Gendry’s brow furrowed and he opened his mouth to speak again, but then Sansa appeared, looking bewildered. “Where have you been, Arya?” she asked, stealing a confused glance at Gendry. Arya was annoyed to see that Sansa’s cheeks turned as red as her hair when she looked at Gendry.

 _You can’t have him._ “I’ve been here,” she said. “In the courtyard.”

“Who is this?” Sansa asked, still looking at Gendry with a curious expression Arya didn’t like. But he was dressed like he was a lord’s son, in clothes that he could not afford - rich clothes in rich colors. Arya hadn’t noticed before, too focused on seeing _him_ again, but now that she could see the clothes, it was odd. The clothes he wore reminded her almost of Renly’s wardrobe back in the days of her childhood. _What was he doing here dressed like that?_

“I’m Ser Gendry Waters of the Hollow Hill, milady,” he said to Sansa with a much stiffer bow than the one he presented Arya. “I traveled with Arry, I mean, Arya.” His face was suddenly red.

Sansa didn’t seem to mind the mistake. “Lady Arya,” she said. “Remember to call her that in front of others.”

Gendry’s face was still red. “I will, milady.”

“It’s my lady,” Sansa corrected again. “And I do suggest you both follow me before the early morning sun attracts the rest of the court to the outdoors. We should speak in my rooms or in Lady Arya’s.”

As they walked together, Arya stole glances at her childhood friend. He was no mere boy now but a man grown. The man she always knew he was under the stubborn, sulky looks and the terrible japes. He nodded at her when he caught her looking and her heart startled. She looked away, hoping he didn’t know what he had done.

“I already knew of you, Gendry Waters,” Sansa said as soon as the door shut behind her. Her look was stern and reminded Arya of their mother. “The Lady Brienne of Tarth met you before - when she was a captive of the Lady Stoneheart.” _Mother knew Gendry?_ Arya knew so little even now and sometimes wasn’t sure if she wanted to know more. “Lady Brienne spotted you today in the courtyard and told me your name. Do you remember her?”

“Yes, m’lady.”

Sansa only sighed. “You came with a stranger today. He has brought you as what exactly? A bargaining chip? You must know who your father is - men will want your head.”

Gendry’s face didn’t change although his voice was hard. “I am here to swear my fealty to the new Queen. As is my companion - the one that brought me here. You both know him well. He would like to meet with you when you are able.”

“Who?” Arya demanded.

Gendry shook his head. “Always the impatient one.” But he was smiling and Arya could only smile back.

Sansa wasn’t as amused. “I also would like to know.”

“He told me to tell you that he would like his cloak back.”

Arya glanced at her sister and was surprised to see Sansa flush. “Do you mean. . . ? I thought he was dead.” At this Sansa looked back at Arya, confused. “Arya you said you thought he died.”

“Who?”

“Brienne was told that he was dead. . .” Sansa continued, confusion coloring her face. “But he’s. . .”

“He’s alive and in the sept.”

“The sept?” Sansa laughed, although she still looked upset. “I would never thought to find him there. And how did you two find your way into the Red Keep?”

Gendry shrugged - looking much more like the boy Arya knew. “Ask him. He seemed to know what he was doing.”

Sansa nodded. “Come, Arya, we must find Brienne. And perhaps Ser Jaime as well. Mayhaps even Lord Tyrion...”

“Not so many, m’lady,” Gendry protested. “He is no danger to you - he only wants to see if you are well.”

“I will not go without Lady Brienne,” Sansa declared, her eyes narrowed.

Arya was tired of this. “Who in the seven hells are we talking about?”

Sansa looked ready to speak, but Gendry grabbed Arya’s arm first. She allowed him to bring her close (ignoring Sansa’s squeaking protest) and he whispered only two words into her ear. “The Hound.”

She shrugged him off then, glaring. “You lie. I killed him. I had to have.”

“I would never lie to my lady,” he promised.

And Arya believed him.

* * *

The Hound was there as Gendry said, kneeling before the Maid. Arya wondered what had happened - the Hound she knew never would have prayed to any god - especially not to the Maid.

“We do not share a god,” Gendry told her as they had walked. He seemed keen to avoid Brienne much to Arya’s surprise. Arya wondered why that was but couldn’t think of why he would do such a thing. “I follow Rh’llor. But he and I share devotion and have forgiven each other for our sins. The Hound had hoped to get you home safe and that is all I had ever hoped as well. We failed you in this.”

Arya ignored him, hoping he couldn’t tell that her eyes were stinging with tears, and walked faster in order to catch up with Brienne, knowing that Gendry would not follow her there.

It was Brienne who spoke to the Hound first, nodding her head in greeting. “Ser, I have heard much of you.”

“None of it good, I suspect,” the Hound said as he rose from his spot.

“How did you get here?” Arya demanded and the Hound laughed.

“Always to the point,” he said, almost with affection. _But that could not be right._ “I am glad you are alive, girl. But you were always a survivor so I suspected you’d live through the day..”

“How did you get here?” Sansa asked, her voice quiet. She stood behind Brienne, her arms at her sides, her eyes wide.

Arya could not blame her. The Hound was even uglier than before. He was even uglier than Brienne. “I have a horse, my lady,” he said, snorting. “And I can write a letter.”

“To who?” Sansa asked.

“To Stannis Baratheon.”

“Because of Gendry,” Sansa said.

 _What?_ “Why because of Gendry?”

“I am Robert Baratheon’s bastard as you said, milady,” Gendry said, sounding disgruntled.“And therefore I am a risk to everything,” Gendry continued. Arya remembered the Gold Cloaks who killed Yoren. _They were looking for him - for Gendry_ , she realized. _I did not see it. . . Yoren did._

Sansa sniffed. “He has many bastards,” Sansa said. “Mya Stone is one of them and she’s not here.”

“What did Stannis say?” Brienne asked. Gendry looked away from Brienne but the Hound grinned.

“He sent us money for clothes and another horse. He is welcoming us into his arms.” The Hound laughed. “Well, he gave us money. He’s still a shit.”

“How did you two even meet?” Sansa asked, looking at Gendry and then at the Hound. “What happened?”

“That’s too fucking long to explain that’s what that is,” the Hound said. “But if you must hear it, _my lady_ , after the Brotherhood without Banners disbanded - after your lady there killed them all, well, there was plenty of chaos sown throughout the Riverlands. _Ser_ Gendry here found himself in need of help on the Quiet Isle and that’s when I realized I had found another brat of Robert’s.”

“Then there were battles and dragons and the like,” Gendry added, waving a hand. “We became friends.”

The Hound snorted but didn’t dispute this.

Arya was outraged. “You have to hate him!” she told Gendry.

“You don’t hate him,” Gendry said, surprising her. “You almost looked happy when you realized he was alive.”

“Arya,” Sansa said. “He saved me.”

“He told me he wanted to rape you!”

Sansa winced and Brienne grasped the hilt of her sword, glaring at the Hound as she did so, but the Hound didn’t move. He almost looked old and sad when he finally spoke. “I said a lot of things to goad you into killing me, girl. But you didn’t do it,” the Hound said.

Arya found her voice. “And now you’re still alive.”

“So are you,” he said.

She stared at him for another long moment - hating him, hating Gendry, hating Brienne and Sansa too - and then walked away from them all.

Gendry found her first. “I’m sorry,” he said, leaning over her. She was sitting on the floor not too far outside the entrance of the sept. No one else was near. The sept was an unpopular place now - fluttering sparrows made the Seven frightening and the shadow of the Red Lady called away most of the lords and ladies. _And Gendry._ “I hadn’t known what he said to you.”

“Why are you here?” Arya wanted to hurt him. “To get more money for being a bastard of an old, fat king? Queen Daenerys calls him the Usurper, you know. She might kill you with her dragons.”

He knelt beside her, his blue eyes glowing. “Arya, for the love of all the gods, I heard you were found. I wanted to see you. So did the Hound. He wanted to see that you and your sister were alive.”

“So he could hurt Sansa?”

Gendry shook his head. “He would never hurt her. I think he’d die for her.”

Arya wondered. “Brienne will kill him if he hurts Sansa.”

“I do not doubt it,” Gendry said. “I have seen her prowess in battle...”

He trailed off, suddenly sullen. Arya wanted to ask when this happened, wanted to hear of his life since they had last been together, but was too fearful of the answers. So she stayed silent, only speaking when Gendry grabbed her hand.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her palm. “I wanted you to know that you are my lady,” he said.

“And what does that mean?” she asked, trying to sound like Sansa. Like a lady. Like the lady Gendry wanted her to be.

The voice only made him laugh. “It means I love you, stupid.”

Arya gaped and then hit him on the shoulder as hard as she could. “You haven't seen me in years - you cannot love me. We were children when we last knew one another. . . you  _stupid -_ ”

“Oh yeah?” he asked, his smile disappearing into his growing beard. She almost wasn’t surprised when he kissed her.

She was even less surprised to find herself kissing him back.

* * *

It was hard for Arya to concentrate on Lady Jeyne Westerling as they all sat together for tea late that afternoon. Arya’s mind was too occupied with Gendry to speak of sewing and flowers and everything else Sansa was good at talking about.

Because how could she think about that now?

 _He loved me._ Perhaps it was silly to be so enthralled with that thought but she knew it was a good thought - and she had so few of those left.

Lady Jeyne continued to chatter aimlessly while Sansa ignored the silence that flowed off Arya. Lady Jeyne was kind enough, Arya thought, and still clearly loved Robb even now years after his death. What she was thinking marrying a _Lannister_ , Arya didn’t understand. _She deserves someone like Robb not the Imp._

“Lord Tyrion offered my services to my future good-sister,” Lady Jeyne said, “but before I met with her, I knew I must meet with my. . . _current_ good-sisters.”

Sansa’s smile was strained and Arya wondered what her sister was thinking. Sansa had been married to the Imp before - perhaps she wanted to warn Lady Jeyne about him. “You will always be welcome in our home,” Sansa said. “I hope one day you will visit Winterfell. You should see the castle Robb grew up in.”

“I hope to send any son I have to you in Winterfell,” Jeyne said, her eyes saying something to Sansa that Arya couldn’t understand. “As I want my children to love yours. I want them to know that the North is good and wild and _just_.”

“I may never have children,” Sansa said, surprising Arya. She never thought Sansa would say such a thing. “As I may never marry again. Please assure your betrothed of that.”

Lady Jeyne shook her head. “Our Lord Hand will not listen to me. I am not yet his lady wife.”

“He will not listen even when you are,” Sansa said, her lips twitching.

Lady Jeyne laughed although her eyes were sad. “You sounded like your lady mother then,” she said.

“I did not realize you had met her,” Sansa said.

“I knew her for a short while, my lady, but I could sense her strength.” Lady Jeyne’s smile tensed. “I always wished I had a fraction of the courage your lady mother had. Perhaps I would have been with Robb that day.”

“It is good you weren’t,” Arya said, remembering the sight of the Twins. The Hound had saved her then. He stopped her - she had ran to death and he stopped her.

Lady Jeyne’s eyes widened. “Thank you, Lady Arya,” she said. “I. . . thank you.”

Arya shrugged.

Sansa smiled. “You may have already met Lady Brienne of Tarth then as she knew my lady mother well and attended her for a time while they were at Riverrun.”

Lady Jeyne hesitated. “Perhaps I did. Although, to be frank, Lady Sansa, I paid little attention to anything or anyone that was not your brother. I was young and foolish and could not see beyond him.”

“Then you must not have met Brienne,” Arya interrupted. “Because you would know if you met her.”

“Arya!”

Lady Jeyne laughed. “You two remind me of me and my sister. I am sorry she is not here today - she wished to be here but mother insisted on having one of us attend her goodbye.”

“And that would not be you?” Sansa asked.

Lady Jeyne’s smile was prim. “I hope I never see her again.”

Arya looked up and met Sansa’s eye. Sansa smiled at Arya but then looked back at Jeyne. “It is good we did not meet her,” Sansa said to Jeyne, the truth falling out of her mouth like a waterfall. “For my forgiving and merciful nature only extends so far.”

“And I don’t have one of those,” Arya said.

Lady Jeyne seemed close to laughing. “Truly, my sister will love you both, I am sure of it. I only hope you love her as well.”

“Only if she never becomes a Frey,” Sansa said.

Lady Jeyne’s smile disappeared. "The Freys should burn in all seven hells.”

Once again, Jeyne and Sansa were speaking a language with their eyes Arya could not see. She’d learn to see it, just as she’d learnt the language of the Braavosi docks, the way to walk while blind, how to sell oysters best, and how to bed a man. So she kept watching, looking for the lie in their faces the way she once looked for the Waif’s lies in the dark.

But neither of them were lying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gendry/Arya tag has been added ;)
> 
> And Sorry it took so long for this to be updated! Life's been kind of crazy! 
> 
> Anyways hope you enjoyed the chapter!


	18. Brienne II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Beauty weds and beds the Kingslayer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Warning": there is sex at the end of the chapter - definitely veers into explicit territory and so I might have to change the rating of the story but you tell me!

**BRIENNE**

* * *

 

“Your hair has grown out well,” Sansa said, brushing out Brienne’s yellow strands with careful precision. Her hair had grown long in the cold winter, reaching well past her shoulder blades. It was nearly as long as it had been when she was a child. “You look quite beautiful when it’s this long.”

Brienne swallowed the lie.  _ Brienne the Beauty. Brienne the Maid.  _ Soon both taunts would be untrue. 

Jaime promised when they met the night before that theirs would be a true marriage, including their bedding, but that only frightened Brienne more. He had been so honest, so sincere as he spoke of his hopes to her - and his fears.

“Are you sure you want to marry me, my lady?” he asked her, looking pained.  _ Half a god, _ she had thought while looking at him, unable to say the words she ought. She was weak. She should have said no to save him pain - save him from a wife he’d have to bed in the darkness. She was sure he did not bed Cersei in the dark - for all her faults Cersei was certainly beautiful while she lived. _ I can never be beautiful, _ she almost said to Jaime then, almost asking him again if he was sure he wanted to marry her, but instead she reassured  _ him.  _

Just as she now reassured Sansa, who almost looked more nervous than Brienne about the night’s festivities. Sansa had yet to see a good wedding, Brienne remembered, and the last time a Lannister married, she was whisked off to the Vale by Littlefinger. The same Littlefinger who married and then murdered Sansa’s aunt.

Arya was in the room as well, looking lovely in a grey dress that reminded Brienne of Lady Catelyn. Brienne believed that Arya looked like her lady mother - her eyes were just as sharp and kind - but did not dare to tell the young Stark girl this. Brienne suspected she would not be believed. “You do look nice,” Arya said, almost begrudgingly. “Are you sure you want to marry the Kingslayer? You’re better than him. You even fight better.”

“Arya!” Sansa said, sounding exasperated. Brienne wondered if Sansa had cautioned her sister against saying such things. “She only has an hour before her wedding. Don’t scare her.”

“How would that scare her?” Arya’s reflection in the mirror looked perplexed. “She’s fought off bandits and the undead and a man who tried to chew off her face according to Gendry.”

Sansa grumbled at her sister but Brienne didn’t listen to their disagreement. Instead, she touched her ruined cheek and shook her head. 

“It is all right, Sansa. I’m sure I made the right choice.”  _ I’m not sure of anything but what can I do now? I must marry him. For your sake and for his. And for Tarth. _

Sansa didn’t look convinced but went back to braiding a portion Brienne’s hair. “I hope you don’t mind the Northern style, I think it’d look lovely with your hair.” 

“I don’t mind,” Brienne said, knowing it didn’t matter.  _ I can never be a beauty.  _ “I trust you, my lady.”

Sansa smiled at Brienne through the mirror and Brienne, hesitating for only a moment, smiled back.

* * *

The wedding was done in simple dress. The mutterings about her hair, clothes, and looks bothered her little. It was Jaime who frightened her - she could not bear to look at him as she spoke the vows in the small sept where not a week ago she met the Hound who swore his own oaths to Sansa while Arya ran away. Now a crowd of impressive people littered the room just to watch her and Jaime exchange words and promises.

_ In truth, the vows were easy. _ They were not much different than the unspoken promises between her and Jaime already - the vows were no more difficult than the vow she took before Lady Catelyn. 

In fact, these vows were easier - for she had loved him for longer than she was willing to admit. Pledging the love out loud was no burden although she was sure it was a burden for him, so soon after his sister’s death.

Perhaps it helped that she was not to be Lady Lannister - their marriage was to be matrilineal due to the Queen’s wishes (“ _ You are an heir and he is disinherited - it is only right! _ ”). The High Septon agreed to this with little trouble, too afraid of his new Queen who had dragons at her beck and call, and so it was Brienne placing her suns and moons on Jaime’s back instead of Jaime placing a cloak full of lions on her back. She cringed when she heard the titters in the crowd as she helped Jaime with the cloak and hoped no one could see the flush creeping up her neck.

Jaime smiled at her when they faced each other once more and when he kissed her it did not feel dry and dutiful...  _ nor did it feel like the passionate embrace that I oft imagined it would be in my dreams _ .

It felt like snow.

Snow had fallen onto her lips when they found Sansa - the chilly ice fluttered on her lips. Brienne remembered Jaime staring at her even as Sansa appeared across a mountainous crest. Brienne had been troubled by his attention - her face had been red from the cold mountain air as well as the hike up the troublesome hills and she wondered if the redness made her scars worse. Sansa, of course, had shown no sign of exertion, she was as beautiful as her mother and so it was impossible not to know that she was Sansa Stark (Pod’s confirmation only provided more proof). Jaime had bowed to the Stark girl and spoke of duty and honor in a way that made Brienne’s heart soar into the grey sky above them and  _ hope.  _ Even Sansa had been persuaded by Jaime’s pretty words - or so Brienne thought until Sansa spoke her true thoughts on Ser Jaime later when the young girl was unafraid. 

But Brienne knew Jaime meant the words he spoke to Sansa. 

And she knew he meant the vows he spoke in the sept. 

_ To me. _

Brienne looked over at Jaime now from the end of their wedding table, watching as he smiled at the congratulations that were offered to him.  _ I wish I told him no _ , she thought, trying not to look too closely at his smile when Lord Tyrion congratulated him with a weary grin. _ I wished I denied him as I denied Hyle. _

But she could not do that to Jaime. 

Not after his sister’s death. 

Not after he asked her again and again and  _ again. _

Not after Lady Sansa had looked so eager. 

_ And not after I realized I loved him. _

Sansa smiled and danced with Garlan Tyrell, looking thrilled that the wedding took place without a hitch... or a murder. King ( _ or is it to be Lord?,  _ Brienne wondered) Jon watched his cousin - a strangled sort of expression on his face while Lady Arya sat beside him, speaking of something Brienne couldn’t quite hear. Jon didn’t seem to hear it either though, Arya was pulling at his sleeve to catch his attention.

Brienne wondered if Galladon would have had that expression if he had lived to see this day - if he would have worried about her safety with Jaime as Jon worried over Sansa’s safety with Ser Garlan.

She thought not. Galladon did not worry - Galladon smiled.

Her father might have, but he was gone now due to the mummer’s dragon. Aegon roasted Tarth with his childish armies and toy soldiers. 

She couldn’t think of her father now, even if his death was the reason she was sitting beside Jaime. She couldn’t think of anything but the bedding that was to come - the men who would steal her clothes and the women who would steal Jaime’s. There would be a long line of women after Jaime and many men would love to humiliate her before she was bedded - she had heard some of them speak of it days prior when they had not known she was listening. She was used to this after the bet Hyle set up - but it still hurt, more than it ought to have.

Those men were vile and unworthy, Lady Sansa told her after Brienne confessed to eavesdropping, but Sansa’s eyes were worried. Sansa had been saved from her own bedding with Lord Tyrion but Brienne suspected she wouldn’t be able to avoid hers. 

Brienne begged off dancing when King Jon asked, not wanting more eyes upon her back. Once, she had liked dancing. Dancing with Renly made her giddy as a girl, but she was sure it would not be the same with King Jon. 

Nor would it be the same with Jaime if he chose to ask her.

It would be terrifying to dance with Jaime.

She glanced at him once again and his green eyes met her blue. His gaze was hard and pensive.  _ If I was braver I would ask what he was thinking. But I am not as brave as I wish.  _

Sansa approached their table with a cautious smile. “My Lord and Lady...  _ Tarth. _ ”

Jaime’s lips quirked. “Ser Jaime is fine.”

Sansa looked relieved. “Yes, of course. Ser Jaime, Lady Brienne, the Queen would like to speak with you both... if it pleases you.”

“If it pleases us or her?” Jaime asked. Sansa opened her mouth to answer but Brienne knew Jaime wasn’t expecting one. He was already out of his chair and was offering his left hand to Brienne. She took it and was surprised by his fingers entwining with hers.

No one had ever held her hand like that. Perhaps her mother or father did once - or mayhaps even her brother, but she could not remember it. She liked the feel of Jaime’s hand in hers and was glad when he tightened his grasp. 

Sansa led them to where Queen Daenerys sat at her table. It was a lonely seat - the rest of her table was dancing and japing throughout the room. Originally Sansa suggested that the Queen sit with the bride and groom but the Queen had begged off that, preferring to sit at her own table with her own people. But now all but two of her retinue had left her side. They stood beside their Queen with serious faces. Missandei and Grey Worm were their names, Brienne remembered, and had been with the Queen since before the fall of Meereen. They eyed Brienne and Jaime warily. Brienne tried to avoid looking back at them, already too nervous about what the Queen wanted from her.

Jaime released his grasp of Brienne’s hand to bow to his Queen. Brienne bowed as well, believing it to be the safer option. The Queen didn’t seem offended. She was smiling gently, her eyes looking hopeful. _I forget how young she is._ “I have decided to do away with the bedding ceremony,” the Queen told them. “I never had one myself and it seems a strange tradition for a wedding.”

“At whose behest?” Jaime asked, his tone sharp.

“Your brother’s,” the Queen said, looking amused. “Lady Sansa says he did the same for her when they married.”

Sansa nodded. “He did, your Grace. It was a kindness that I sorely needed that day.”

“And I suspect your bride needs it,” the Queen said to Jaime. Brienne wondered why the Queen did not speak directly to her. _ And I thought she hated Jaime.  _ “And perhaps you need it as well, ser.”

“Mayhap,” Jaime said, frowning. He looked back towards Brienne and when she nodded, he said: “Thank you, your Grace.”

“Thank you,” Brienne repeated, bowing again. 

“Think of it as my wedding present,” Queen Daenerys said, smiling. “Well, this and the small contingent of builders I’ll be sending to Tarth. I know you would like to stay here longer, so with your blessing, I hope to start the rebuilding before you arrive. In the meanwhile, you should hire a new steward. I am hoping your island will become a trading gateway to Essos.”

Brienne wasn’t even sure how much money she had for the rebuilding. Or for the dress she now wore. Or for a steward. So much of it was Jaime’s money and she wasn’t even sure how much of that money truly belonged to him after his disinheritance.  _ Did it all belong to Lord Tyrion? _ “I will look into it, your Grace.”

“Good,” the Queen said, satisfaction evident on her pretty face. “Enjoy yourselves and when the bedding is called for, let my little Hand take care of the details.”

Jaime agreed to this and offered Brienne his arm and she took it, not knowing what else to do. Sansa stayed behind to speak with the Queen and so they both left the young girls behind, walking alongside the path the dancers took, watching the young and old dance and laugh with one another. Everyone looked happy, much to Brienne’s surprise, and there were many people, much more than she had thought would come to such an unimportant event... but Jaime had told her he thought it would be a crowd.

“We’re heroes to them,” he said. “We destroyed the Brotherhood without Banners, removed Lady Stoneheart’s head, and saved Sansa Stark from the evil Littlefinger.”

“But we did none of that,” she had replied and Jaime only laughed - a bitter, cold laugh she hated to hear.

He was right, of course. Singers sang of their love even before she had chosen him as a husband - as if Ser Jaime would love a girl like her.  _ I have never wept in his arms as ladies are supposed to do, even when I wanted to I didn’t dare. I had to be strong for Sansa then. For Pod too. The mere boy did what we could not - and now we are celebrated for it. For betraying oaths. For killing a mother in pain. A mother who should have been left dead in a river. A mother who shouldn’t have had to watch her son die at a wedding. _

At the plucking of strings, Brienne suddenly felt a wave of illness.  _ “The Bear and the Maiden Fair” _ was playing by the men in the hall with a sharp voice accompanying the playing. She suspected Tyrion had a hand in it. “They won’t play the Rains of -”

“No,” Jaime said, his expression tight. “I told them before not to do so.”

She nodded, grateful, and asked, “For Sansa?”

“For you.” He looked away so quickly that she was unsure if she saw a guilty look in his eyes. “And now I am no Lannister. It would not be right to play it.”

_ You will always be a Lannister _ , she might have said if she had the courage. “Arya might kill you if it does play.”

“She might,” he agreed. “Jon too.”

“They loved their brother.”

“Lady Jeyne might also kill me or the singers if she hears it,” Jaime pointed at a girl near the Queen’s age who sat next to Arya and another girl. She was smiling while Arya spoke rapidly. “She was Robb’s bride and is now to be my brother’s.”

“I recognize her,” Brienne said, remembering. Sansa had spoken of Lady Jeyne after their time together.  _ I was supposed to invite her to join me for supper but I never did. She wrote me and I wrote back but that was the extent of it. I should have met her - she is to be my goodsister and I don’t know her. _ “She looks sadder now.”

“I would think so,” Jaime frowned. “She may not be bright but she loved the wolf boy.”

“And now she will marry your brother?”

Jaime shook his head. “It is strange how things go, is it not? They will never love one another not like...” He stopped and coughed before continuing. “Not like she loved Robb Stark.”

“That is true,” Brienne said. _ But she could love again just as I loved after Renly’s passing. Perhaps she should not marry the Imp. Perhaps she should wait. _

“Lady Brienne?” Jaime asked, placing his cold, golden hand on her shoulder. “Are you well?”

_ No _ , she wanted to say, but instead only nodded.

And prayed for an end to the night.

But the night had hours to go before it ended.

And there was still a bedding awaiting her.

Lady Sansa assisted Brienne’s escape from the wedding before the crowd of revelers discovered that there was no bedding ceremony - “You will wait in the room for Ser Jaime,” Sansa said, blushing. 

Lady Sansa was still a maid, Brienne recalled, although the Stark girl knew enough of what was to happen between a man and a woman in a bedding.

Just as Brienne did.

“Will it hurt?” Brienne asked without meaning to, feeling craven as she asked Sansa.  _ How can I be afraid of a little pain? _

“I have heard it can,” Sansa said, her voice lowered. “I - well,” Sansa blushed, “I asked the whores at the brothels Littlefinger owned if it hurt when I met with them a few days ago - I - I’ve been trying to do right by them, you know, and -”

Brienne shook her head. “You do not have to explain, Lady Sansa.”

Sansa nodded, her blush deepening. “Well, they said it can hurt maids but noble maidens have it easier - we ride horses.”

_ And horses break maidenheads.  _ “I shall be fine either way, my lady. Thank you for helping me.”

“Of course,” Sansa said, almost sounding surprised. “You are my friend.”

Tears pricked at Brienne’s eyes and she rubbed them away. “Thank you, my lady.”

Sansa smiled and surprised Brienne with an embrace. “You are welcome, Lady Tarth,” she said, before kissing Brienne on the cheek and releasing her. “I shall leave now before your lord husband finds his way here. I think he would rather I am absent before his arrival.”

Brienne wanted to protest but knew Sansa spoke the truth and so said nothing as she left.  _ What am I to do when Jaime arrives? _

She didn’t have much time to mull over how to act or what to say for Jaime arrived not long after Sansa left, looking almost bedraggled. She stood by the window while she watched him burst through the door with a strange kind of swagger. He had a glass of wine in his hand although half of it seemed to be falling out of the goblet. “Some of the women,” he said, grinning in a way that reminded her of his brother, “wanted to perform the bed ceremony despite the Queen’s declaration.”

His shirt was torn in three places, Brienne noticed. “Oh.”

“Wine?” he asked her cheerfully, pouring himself another glass of wine. A decanter full of Arbor Gold sat near their bed - Sansa had brought it. It had been a gift from the Tyrells to both of the Stark girls, Sansa said, although Brienne suspected this to be a falsehood. They wanted Sansa - even Brienne could see that. 

He drank from his glass before pouring her one and finished his own before she had taken a sip.  _ Does he need to be drunk to bed me?  _ She almost asked him but looked towards the window instead, where the stars hung high in the sky. “It’s beautiful,” he said. He stood close beside her, close enough that she could feel the heat emanating from his skin. She wondered if she’d fall to pieces if she touched him.

“It is,” Brienne agreed, sipping her wine, hoping to find the courage to face him within it. 

_ Perhaps that was he was looking for,  _ she thought as he started on his second glass, _the_ _ courage to bed me _ . _We are both cravens._ “You did not drink like this out there,” she said, trying not to sound too disapproving.

But she must have for Jaime snorted with amusement at her comment. “Are you my wife or a septa?” 

Brienne looked at him and was startled to find him staring at her. “I am the Maid of Tarth,” she said, annoyed at his comment. 

His eyes didn’t leave hers. “Perhaps we should change that then,  _ wife, _ ” he said, pushing himself up until he was as tall as she was. There wasn’t even a moment where she could move away from his gaze - his mouth was on hers too quickly to do anything but kiss him.

This time the kiss felt nothing like snow - it felt like fire and fear and it tasted of the Arbor Gold he had drunk so steadily. Brienne’s eyes closed as Jaime kissed her the way she had dreamed that he would kiss her, the way that frightened her deeply. She could hear his glass of wine drop and break on the floor right before he caressed the back of her neck with his thumb. “Leave it,” he commanded, somehow knowing she was about to open her eyes to look at the mess of glass. 

She obeyed him and was rewarded with his mouth on her neck - something she had never thought to feel. “Jaime,” she gasped, surprised. 

He moved his mouth lower, sucking on her collarbone and Brienne felt faint.  _ Was this weakness or pleasure? Was this what it was supposed to be like? _ Suddenly her back was pressed against the stone wall and his hand had moved from the back of her neck to front of her dress. Sansa had helped her out of the top layers of the dress but Brienne still wore a long shift and robe. 

Until Jaime ripped them both into two. 

“This was not made well,” he said, grinning. She would have laughed or lectured if she had not suddenly realized that he could see _ her.  _ He had seen her once before, in a bath at Harrenhal, but that had been so long ago - and the candlelight was so bright here -

“You are wonderful,” he said, calming her fears, and within an instant, his mouth was between her breasts.

“Jaime,” she gasped again, not expecting his mouth to feel so lovely. She could feel his tongue edging its way to her left breast and without meaning to, she grabbed his golden mane of hair. 

He grunted and she almost released her grip, for fear of hurting of him, but then he clamped onto her left nipple and Brienne could not breathe. Holding his hair was the only comfort to this  _ terrible _ feeling that encompassed her whole being. 

“Bed,” he said, after a moment of doing that. “I must be selfish now, Brienne,  _ my lady wife,  _ I won’t be able to do my duty to you otherwise.”

Brienne followed him to the bed, her legs feeling softer than they had after a long day of riding.  _ But I have done nearly nothing - why do I ache so? _

Jaime lit another candle as he waited for her to reach the bed. Brienne knew not what to think of this and so just let him kiss her again as they sat side by side on the edge until suddenly he moved in a way that found him on top of her as they lay together on the soft sheets.

She could feel all of him like this - every part of his body that she had once seen in a bath at Harrenhal. “You are more dressed than I,” Brienne said, feeling emboldened by his look of wanting. 

His eyes were lidded and heavy with _something_ as he smiled. “I have only one hand, my lady, you must undress me.”

_ I have seen him naked before, I have taken care of him when he was ill, I have cared for him as if he were a babe  _ \- Brienne thought of these terrible memories from the days they spent together under Bloody Mummers' rule and yet still she trembled as she removed his ripped shirt and pants. Jaime did not give her a moment to look for as soon as she had seen his cock he pressed himself against her and kissed her on the lips. 

She could feel him hard against her stomach and it made her nervous. “Kiss my neck again,” she said and Jaime obeyed, his beard scratching the curve of her shoulder in a way that made her forget her fears. His hands reached down between her legs and the remnants of her dress fell away as he shoved them aside with his stub. 

Brienne gasped as his fingers rubbed a spot she had never dared touch between her legs and felt his grin on her collar before he kissed her collar, his lips wet. “You want me,” he said, sounding smug. 

She could not dispute this much to her embarrassment. She had spent years pretending that she wasn’t The Kingslayer’s Whore but now... “I do,” she said, feeling shameful.

Jaime removed his hands from inside her and moved his mouth away from her neck. He peered down at her, his green eyes glowing in the candlelight. “And I want you, wife,” he said. “Wrap your legs around me so I can prove it.”

She did as he bid, feeling nervous and wondering what he meant. She had seen rutting before - animals and soldiers weren’t ones to hide such things, even from maiden ladies - but none of this seemed like the rutting she had witnessed.

“Relax,” Jaime purred, moving her hands above her head with his hand. She misliked this and frowned up at him. He didn’t seem to notice, a strange, distant look appeared on his face instead. “Gods,” he said and suddenly she felt him.

“You’re -” Brienne started to say, but then she couldn’t say a word. He was within her, moving, and his hand was gripping her wrist above her head so tight that she wondered if there would be a bruise. 

“Brienne,” he gasped and then fell silent, his eyes squeezed shut. 

Feeling lost in this strange sensation of him moving within her, she moved her hips as well, wondering if she was supposed to, being too afraid to ask him. Jaime’s eyes flashed open and he grinned weakly at her. “You’re a fast learner,” he said, “but I should not be surprised.”

Surprise loosened her tongue. “Am I doing all right?” she asked, slowing her hips.

Jaime’s hand moved to her hip. His nails dug into the bone and she gasped with want. “You’re beautiful,” he said and then his lips were upon her ruined cheek. The sensation made her gasp and move into him harder and faster - as if they were fighting with steel rather than their bodies. She found her way around his back and dug her own fingers into his shoulder blades.

“That’s it,” Jaime murmured before capturing her lips. Brienne opened her mouth and his tongue was pressed against her, dancing against his as if they were in combat, just as their bodies moved faster together, in sync in a way they had never been before, even in battle she had never felt so strong a connection with him.

And then Jaime slowed, his grip on her hip loosening, and Brienne slowed as well although she still ached for something unknowable - something she could not say. As he tried to extricate himself from her, his cock soft against her thigh, she tightened her own grip. “No, please,” she said, unsure of what she meant or wanted.

Jaime looked at her, his gaze almost puzzled. “I’ll stay,” he said. Brienne stared, unsure of whether to believe him until he smiled. “I’ll stay, Brienne,” he promised.

“Why?” was out of her mouth before she could stop it. Jaime didn’t seem to hear the question, his head nuzzled her shoulder while his arm wrapped around her waist. He had fallen asleep or was pretending to be. For that Brienne was grateful. She was sore in places she had not known she could be sore and wanted to weep for something she could not understand.  _ I am no maid now _ , she thought, unsure of whether to be sad or grateful.  _ I never thought this day would come...  _

Brienne brushed his hair away from his sweat covered brow, wishing she could kiss him again. She still wanted more from him - even as she ached from his being inside her, she wanted  _ more.  _

What more meant - she didn’t know. Jaime’s arm tightened around her waist and she found comfort in that instead, ignoring the burning need until it disappeared with the fading candlelight.

As the darkness spread across the room, Brienne fell asleep in Jaime’s arms. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the chapter! Been fighting this one for a long time so I'm glad it finally... came together. 
> 
> (I make bad puns I'm sorry).
> 
> (also does this count for JAB month xD)


	19. Jon II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The King and Queen have a chat by the Iron Throne.

It was quiet in the throne room.

The room was missing its audience - the courtiers who clamored for things Jon didn’t want to understand. Blood oaths, vengeance, land, sex, money - Jon achieved the only thing he had needed doing and wanted nothing to do with the rest of it. He had only wanted Cersei’s head for Sansa ( _and for Arya_ ) and now the Mad Queen's was spiked on top of the walls of the Red Keep with maggots in her eyes. Cersei had wanted the throne and had it and the crown that came with it just before Daenerys came to Westeros riding on her dragons. He wondered if all Cersei's sins felt like they were worth it for that stupid iron mess.

He stared at the Iron Throne now, the lit candles beside it illuminating the monstrosity, wishing his aunt would arrive sooner than Varys’ little birds did. Jon was sure the man was somehow listening and watching now. Sansa spoke of the eunuch’s spies with such trepidation that it worried Jon.

Jon wondered what Varys thought of him - wondered what his little birds thought too.

Did they think him wise as Ser Davos did? Or did they think him as foolish as his father ( _and which father would they think of first?_ )

Jon shook off these thoughts as he heard his aunt enter the room behind him, only a single Unsullied soldier following her for protection. She preferred her shadows over the nobles who promised to protect her with second sons - and for that Jon did not blame her. Who knew what the nobles really wanted? They lied when they spoke and sometimes didn’t even seem to know what they truly wanted.

All Jon knew was that he wanted to go home. To Winterfell.

And perhaps he didn’t even know that.

“Your Majesty,” he said to Daenerys, bowing a fraction. He knew the action pleased his aunt, who had never asked for him to do such things.

In truth, Jon preferred bowing to her over standing straight. He never wished to be King of anything. He didn’t even want Winterfell for himself. Winterfell belonged to Sansa and Arya. To Rickon and Bran. He would only stay there for as long as they welcomed him. And when the time came for him to leave, he’d see who else needed him then. If the Wall could be his home again, he’d go but he knew they would not want him. _No one truly needs me any longer - my part is done._

His aunt smiled as he knew she would and, to his surprise, curtsied. “Your Majesty,” she said, her eyes glowing in humor. “Shall we speak frankly?”

Jon nodded and the discussion began.

They spoke of lords and ladies who asked for help - whether with famine, disease, or fighting the rabid horse lords that had stormed the Riverlands (his aunt’s voice full of anger and regret). They spoke of how to deal with the religious differences amongst the smallfolk - R’hllor was growing in popularity and some of the followers were as fanatical as the sparrows of the Seven.

“What do you believe, Jon?” she asked, her violet eyes pensive.

He shook his head. “I said my vows to a heart tree and I can never forsake that.”

“Even though you died and came back thanks to the power of R’hllor and his red priestess?” Her tone was merely curious and so Jon thought over it.

“Yes,” he said at last. “I believe in the Old Gods first.”

His aunt smiled and shook her head. “You are more Stark than Targaryen, it seems. Ice over fire.”

“Ice and fire is what won the war against the dead,” he reminded her. Although truly it had just been fire. Fire that spewed from the mouths of Daenerys' three dragons.

“I know - I can’t forget.” She sighed in a manner that reminded him of Sansa and looked away from him and towards the Iron Throne. “We should melt that ugly thing - and don’t look at me with such surprise, nephew. I may have wanted that seat once when I was still a foolish girl but after seeing White Walkers...”

“We could have used those ugly swords then,” he said, hoping to make her laugh.

Instead, she frowned. _I still know nothing._ “We could have used swords, Valyrian steel swords, and people who knew how to wield them. Perhaps then more men and women and. . . children would have lived to see the spring.”

“You are the Queen, you know - you can burn the Iron Throne.”

Her lips quirked. “But then what would the courtiers fear?”

Jon laughed. “You have dragons!”

“I have one dragon - you and Tyrion have two of my children, as you well know.”

“But they are truly yours, my Queen,” he said, earnest. “You know they are yours - as is my loyalty.”

Her face grew solemn and sad. “Then you will still support me as Queen if you choose to leave?”

“I will,” he promised and meant it. “You are my aunt.”

She grabbed his right hand. Her pale, beautiful face looked up at him with such wondrous gratitude. “Thank you, Jon. I - I am glad of this.”

Her hand was shaking in his own. Jon had never known her to be afraid until this moment. “I wish I could marry you,” he said, “but we both know...” Jon stopped his thought for Daenerys nodded, letting his hand fall from hers.

“You wish to help save Winterfell.”

“This is true,” Jon acknowledged, grateful that she understood that part of him. _If only we could marry. If only my heart wasn’t buried in snow._ “It is my home and I could not bear what happened to it - what happened to my cousins there. What happened to Jeyne there - I must fix it. All of it. Seeing Winterfell as it was at the end of winter - I must assist Sansa and Arya in saving my home.”

Daenerys smiled. “For it is the North you love - not I,” she said in a way that made him tense. _She speaks of something else_.

“What?” A flash of red hair crossed his mind and he shooed it away. Ygritte could not be who she meant. He had only spoken of Ygritte once to his Queen during the long nights of winter. “What do you mean?”

A look of concern crossed Daenerys’ face before she answered, her voice careful. “I meant that should be your reasoning. The singers will love it, Jon. As will the court. We need a story to believe in. Your love for the North will mend the fear of broken promises.”

“You mean the Beauty and the Kingslayer won’t be enough of a tale for the courtiers and the singers?” he said in reference to Lady Brienne and Ser Jaime. As soon as they had left for their bedding, the singers sang the lyrics to a new song that make even the rowdiest men of the Night’s Watch blush. Sam had blushed in any case while Gilly merely laughed beside him. Although her laughter died when she caught Jon’s eye. _She still hasn’t forgiven me._ Jon could not blame her - but he had to swap the babes in order to save them. They could have both died if he had not - burned from Melisandre's red fire but now both babes _lived._

Daenerys scowled and Jon thought of dragon fire. “I meant a story - a song - to excuse you abandoning your burdensome duty of ruling seven kingdoms.”

“It was only a jape, aunt,” he said, amused at how her face purpled.

“It is no jape,” she warned. “You must find a Northern bride and pledge your heart to her as Aegon the Unlikely pledged his heart to Black Betha.”

Jon had not expected this reasoning. Especially since Aegon the Unlikely ended up ruling the Seven Kingdoms - but he suspected it would not be wise to point that out to his Targaryen Queen. “But who would I fall in love with in this song?”

“That is not up to me,” Queen Daenerys said, almost sounding tired. “I trust you have enough sense to choose a Northern bride worthy of you - but when you do so, you must forsake the Targaryen name for you and any children you may have. You must become Jon Snow again - or if you’d like you may be Jon Stark although you will inherit nothing. Ned Stark’s children come first in the inheritance - your mother was second to Ned Stark in line.”

Jon wasn’t sure how to feel about this but wasn’t surprised by her demand. He was almost relieved. “In truth, your Grace, I have always been Jon Snow - I was always still a bastard. I am only a royal bastard borne of dragon’s blood. I was no more - no _better_ than another Blackfyre pretender -"

"Like that Aegon," Queen Daenerys interrupted.

"..And that is why I never should be near that throne,” he said, pointing at the ugly seat. “You know this as well as I do. You are the Queen we need. A trueborn heir to the throne with dragon's blood. But you must pick better advisors. And you must have a Queensguard.”

Jon nodded thinking of the Aegon that had rushed the Stormlands without a though. " - and that is why I never should be near that throne,” he said, pointing at the ugly seat. Queen Daenerys glanced over, her small face serious. “You know this as well as I do, your Grace. You are the Queen we need. A trueborn heir to the throne with dragon's blood. But you must pick better advisors. And you must have a Queensguard.”

“Are these your demands then?” she laughed suddenly surprising Jon. “I can agree to most of this but you must specify what you mean by better.”

He sighed. “You need people who are Martells and Tyrells on the small council - or at least a part of their realms. The Riverlands should also have a representative considering what they are still going through - due to your horse lords.” She said nothing to this and so he felt the courage to continue speaking his thoughts. “And you must remove Ser Jorah. If you’d like him to be a private counsel, that is your own business, my Queen, but remove him from the small council. He was exiled for a reason by my - by Ned Stark. He’s a slaver.”

“Who became a slave,” his aunt said, her voice sharp. “I abandoned him once before, Jon. And once I did that I lost everything. He thinks too highly of himself, this is true, but I cannot remove him from my sight or else I am lost.”

He knew it had been too much to ask for that after what had happened to her in Meereen. “Then, at least be wary of him, my lady. I trust that he would never hurt you purposefully, but you still cannot trust everything he says.”

“I know,” she said. “I know it well, Jon.”

They stood together quietly and it was only broken by the cough of her Unsullied. He had forgotten the soldier was there and flushed, hoping that he would not speak of any of this to Varys or his little birds.

“So our betrothal is over then?” he asked, almost afraid of the answer.

“It is,” she said.

“Will you marry Stannis?”

“Perhaps but...” she sighed. “We shall see, Jon. We shall see.”

* * *

Jon solicited his cousins’ help in the morning. “I must marry someone else if I am to give up the throne,” he told them as they feasted on brown loaves and fresh berries. Trade was booming again due to Ser Davos’ connections with Essosi smugglers. Jon truly hoped that his aunt would keep Ser Davos on her council - whether or not she married Stannis. His common sense would save the nobles from themselves. “The Queen has asked me to.”

“Why can’t you just marry her?” Arya protested. “Why can’t you just be King?”

“We are not suited,” he said, hoping she would drop it. Sansa smiled at him, seeming to know his thoughts. That he wished to be home away from these machinations. He was too much like Ned Stark to be this far south. They all were - _we belong to Winterfell._

But Arya did not listen. “Jon,” she argued, “you should be King.”

“I am a bastard who belongs to the North,” he said. “That is all that should matter. Bad things happen when Starks stay here.”

“I agree,” Sansa said. “We should leave for the North soon, Jon.”

“I believe you may go North now, cousins,” he said, addressing Sansa. “But you should ask the Queen’s permission.”

Sansa shook her head. He admired how her red strands looked in the morning sun. _Kissed by fire._ “I will not go without you. I will not leave my family behind. We cannot separate again.”

“And what if Rickon is found?” Jon challenged for he hoped the boy would be found soon. “He will need someone there. He will need his family.”

“Then I will go!” Arya said. “I want to go home.”

“We all do,” Sansa chided, looking sadder than he thought possible. “We all do, Arya, but we must help Jon. We must stay together, we cannot leave each other now that we found one another.”

Arya pursed her lips then nodded. “The pack survives,” she muttered. “But who must you marry?” Arya asked, seemingly ready to solve his problem in order to go home quickly. “And why must you marry anyone at all?”

“The Queen wills it,” he said.

“The Queen seems to be wanting everyone to get married,” said Arya.

Sansa sighed. “Marriage is the quickest way to peace. Families are forced to work together if there is blood on the wedding sheets.”

Arya rolled her eyes and Jon had to resist smiling at the familiar look. Sansa ignored them both - instead she listed the names of maiden girls that she seemed to think Jon ought to marry. “I would suggest Margaery Tyrell - once she is freed of Tommen. This would allow us to align with the Tyrells and release any expectation for Arya or myself to marry them.”

“Not necessarily,” Jon said, “but I see your point. However, the Queen rather I marry a Northern bride. She said it would make sense given my. . . Stark blood and my love for the North.”

Sansa looked him over and then turned away, her light skin turning pink. He wondered if he was turning pink as well. He suddenly felt closer to a boy than a man. “I suppose,” Sansa said.

Arya grinned. “I agree! No southron girl would be happy in Winterfell! If you can’t be King you must marry someone from the North. . .”

 _So should you_ , Jon thought but didn’t want to speak of Robert’s bastard today. Gendry was a good sort but too close to Stannis for Jon's comfort. There were rumors that Stannis wanted Gendry to marry Lady Shireen but Jon hoped the rumors were false for Arya’s sake. Sansa had heard the same whispers and consoled Jon that Gendry would never leave Arya behind. She believed that Shireen preferred another bastard of Robert’s - Edric Storm who was awaiting his uncle and cousin at Storm’s End. Edric was of noble birth on both lines of his family while Gendry only had Robert “The Usurper” in his line . . . _my mother’s betrothed. Ned Stark's best friend. The man who would have killed me if he had known the truth._

“There are very few appropriate Northern ladies left of marriageable age,” Sansa muttered. “The Manderlys would do well for this if they served the Old Gods but they serve the Seven -”

“As do you?” Jon found himself asking and was rewarded with Sansa’s startled gaze into his eyes.

“Not any longer,” she said, not looking as if she wanted to speak more on that.

“Why does it matter which gods they worship?” Arya asked.

“If this marriage is to show Jon’s true Northern heritage then he must marry someone who worships the Old Gods - Rh’llor or the Seven will not do.”

Arya munched on a piece of bread and then said something completely unexpected and mad. “Why don’t you just marry him, Sansa?”

Jon spluttered, grateful he had only taken a small sip of ale, while Sansa blushed. “Why would I marry Jon?” she asked Arya.

It was her tone that stopped him from speaking out. He looked away from his cousins down at his feet where Ghost slept, not sure whether he was angry or disappointed by Sansa’s disinterest. In Sansa’s eyes. . . _I’m still a bastard not worth a glance_. _Not worth a marriage. Catelyn Stark would be smiling now if she could hear what Sansa said._

“It makes sense,” Arya argued. “This way you are freed from any trappings of marriage, Sansa. Jon will keep you safe from those awful southron lords. And you will keep him safe from the Queen.”

Jon looked up and caught Sansa’s gaze. Her blue eyes were wide and he wasn’t sure what she was feeling or thinking. _But she wants to pick her husband_ , he remembered. _And she would not pick me_. “Sansa has had enough marriages,” Jon said, hoping to end the discussion. “And as to your reasoning, well, then why should I not marry you then, Arya,” he asked, teasing.

Arya rewarded him with him a disgusted look - the kind she often saved for when Robb and Theon talked about girls in front of her. Before winter came. The bittersweet familiarity saddened Jon, but still, he smiled at her response. “I’m not marrying anyone,” she announced.

“Except for Gendry,” Sansa laughed.

Arya turned red. “Shut up.”

With that, the conversation turned to friendly teasing and baiting between sisters and Jon left them to it, with Ghost following behind him, uncomfortable with the knowledge that if Sansa had agreed to marry him when Arya proposed the thought, he would have said yes. The fact his stomach did not coil at the thought of marriage to Sansa upset him greatly - the girl who was once his sister could have been his wife.

_If only she said yes._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So after this chapter there will be a brief break! I want to work a bit on an original story I'm developing and I ALSO want to just chill and watch the new season of GoT so a break is needed! (Plus I'm literally going on vacation soon hah). 
> 
> It shouldn't be too long - I'd guess sometime in September or October (at the latest!). I have the next chapter mostly written but I really want to organize the next parts of the story before moving forward. 
> 
> In any case I hope you enjoyed this chapter!


End file.
